#but maybe they could do that in winter too

[hybbart]

Day 2655: As winter trucks on, everyone hauls up as the snow piles up in the city below...

Short story below the cut

Snow accumulated along the penthouse's enormous balconies, and the many large windows. Beyond was a landscape whited out by the frosty blanket, difficult to discern the shapes of any of the distant buildings through the heavy weather.

Tango's arm quietly ached. These days he could almost ignore it. Jimmy would chastise him if he knew, say it was not healthy, but what was there to do about it? hypocrite that he was, the avian had his own issues, even if it normally was not painful. They'd spent all morning pretending like Tango couldn't hear his unnaturally deep breaths, or that he'd turned his machine up higher. It was already high compared to before they'd been separated.

Today, though, was an okay day for Tango. He could almost ignore it. His prosthetic couldn't, but it was far too cold for it anyways. There was little to do while hauled up, he'd taken to hardly wearing it the past two weeks as the cold settled in. If not for their few chores and Jimmy's returning energy they'd both be hauled up in their room still.

But they still needed to clean and they still needed to eat. So, while he waited for False to return from taking care of the animals for them and the signal from Wels that his brother was still safely locked up, he cleaned. Plucked the dead leaves from the plants, moved muddy clothing to the laundry room, put away the last game they'd played, anything he saw that he could do.

Humming echoed from the hall, riding the same breeze that wafted a lovely smell of spices and meat. The last of a deer False had found. It was easy to mindlessly work with the smells and sounds of Jimmy cooking nearby. Or maybe it was just easier because he knew there was something tasty waiting at the end of it all. His thoughts were quick to get lost imagining the various dishes, unwilling to risk a fork getting thrown at him for interrupting to ask. It couldn't hurt, though, to take a peak..?

The room dimmed as great ruddy wings blocked the whiteout. False's terrifyingly sharp talons seemed like they might crush the railing beneath them, and Tango was silently glad Jimmy's were that of a songbird and not a raptor like their new companions. It wasn't as graceful as Wels' or Grian's landings either, the woman lurching slightly before hopping down to the ground. A few months ago Tango might not have noticed, but he'd seen the three avians come and go so often from that window he couldn't help notice the differences.

"All the chickens are accounted for, and your horse is fed." She announced, giving a salute with her smile that Tango returned.

"Thanks again for this." He said for the fourth time that day. "Jimmy can't even get himself off the ground this week, never mind carrying-"

"I told you it's fine." False waved him off as she slipped off her cap. even just the short flight from ground level to the 40th some-odd floor had it coated in a heavy blanket of snow.

Tango opened his mouth to protest but a yelp escaped instead, accompanied by clattering metal and plastic. It took them both a moment to realize it hadn't been him at all. Both spun towards the hall, a squeaky curse echoing. Tango was the first to rush forward.

Jimmy was leaned over the counter, head in one hand and the other limply stretched over the kitchen island where his leftovers bucket had spilled over the edge. His breaths came heavy and quick, much worse than earlier. Feathered ears twitched, well aware of his new company but unable to pick himself back up to say anything. At least until Tango had his arm around him. Then, he found the ability to give a weak protest, easily ignored as Tango guided him towards the bench-chest on the far wall.

Tango only glanced to False for a second, to check she had followed, "Go turn up the airificator." He directed.

"I'm fine." Jimmy wheezed. It was as though he'd just ran several miles, his hand clutched to his chest to catch a breath of air that would not come to him. "I just got a bit dizzy and dropped my knife."

"Is that all." Tango muttered, running his hands down Jimmy's tubes looking for any knots or breaks. A wing smacked his head until he backed away.

Jimmy huffed, though it wasn't entirely clear if it was frustration or his inability to breathe. "Just give me a minute! It's already high enough. I don't need to get used to it being even higher."

It was pure stubbornness. And if Tango was honest, he wasn't sure what to do with it. Normally it was himself being stubborn about his arm and Jimmy knocking sense into him. Jimmy could be as stubborn as a mule, but it'd never been directed at his health.

Sheepishly, False appeared around the corner. "I turned it up, there's not much room for higher, though."

"See?" Jimmy said pointedly. It was true, that it wasn't good for Jimmy to have it so high for extended time. But if that's what his body needed right now, then what could they do? Suffer and almost drop a knife on himself, apparently. Tango's brows knit together.

"You go lay down, I'll finish the cooking."

Jimmy balked. "You have one hand!"

"That's one more than you right now." He knelt down, allowing the hunched avian to look down on him. "It's not going to get better if you push yourself."

There was a look in his rancher's eyes, one that quickly shifted between several emotions until they were almost glassy, before he dropped his head, his grown out hair curtaining his face out of view. Tango sat there, running his hand up and down Jimmy's arm, until a weak voice escaped between gasps, "What if it doesn't?"

If it didn't? There wasn't much to be done if it didn't. They'd live with it like they did every time things became incrementally worse, and a bad day became a regular day. But if this was a regular day, what would be a bad day? Tango couldn't bring to let himself think about the thought that seemed to be consuming Jimmy at that moment. Not while Revy was still in the back of his mind. So, instead he says, "It will."

There was nothing in Jimmy's expression that conveyed any faith in those words.

"You need to let yourself rest." False interjected, hesitant to step forward when both men's eyes turned to her. She fiddled with the tube in her gloves, still having yet to even remove her coat. "Your lungs, if they're straining you need to let them rest for now, build up strength."

"For how long?" Muttered Jimmy, expression resigned. He'd already spent weeks in bed.

False wasn't one for complicated answers. "As long as it takes. You've been straining them for months, it'll take a while. And there's no better time to do it while we're all cooped up in here anyways."

"But it's just cooking. If I can't even do that-"

"Singing while running back and forth and wielding heavy utensils and pots? Your muscles aren't exactly in great shape either after that, it's probably taking it out of your entire body. And there's a difference between exercise and straining yourself."

She pushed he hand to her chest, "If you rest now I can help you with your breathing."

Both ranchers blinked in shock. "What?" Tango asked.

She ignored them at first, taking her time to pull off her scarf and coat, hanging both up on the back of a chair. Hands went to her clothed ribs, and she took a deep breath as her wings flexed. They stuttered, that same oddity Tango had noticed in her movement. "Look, you've met my sister, right? H?"

"Yeah..."

"Then you must have noticed she has a few less limbs." False nodded, fluttering her wings. "She's basic."

"That's a bit rude." Tango couldn't help joke, earning a shoulder bump from Jimmy to quiet down.

She groaned, and then threw her arms out, "I was born from an alteration of her genetics, I wasn't naturally an avian."

That made sense to Tango, knowing what they could do to Doc when he was already alive. It quickly cascaded, other pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.

"I had to learn things you already know, and make up for things that didn't quite take. This included an obnoxious amount of physical therapy, especially dedicated to lung capacity." She put her hands on her hips, taking in a deep breath as if it were an example of her newfound capabilities before releasing. "I don't exactly know all the doctor-y mumbo jumbo behind how it all works, and we don't have all the big fancy equipment, but I know what helped me and what will probably help you some."

"False..." Jimmy sounded torn, and Tango couldn't blame him. It was hard to have any hope after living with his lung damage for seven years, steadily watching it get worse and worse. Their conditions had been very different, but was there really something False could offer that Scar hadn't already offered them in the past? How much was there that she could realistically do? At some point there had to be nothing at all. But it was tempting, even if just to get back to what it had been before, or at the very least prevent it from getting worse. There wasn't much farther it could fall, after all, any lifeline looks tempting.

"It's worth a shot, innit?" She shrugged, giving a tentative smile. "It's the least I could do, is at least try. At worst it does nothing."

"At worst I get my hopes up." Jimmy sighed, leaning his head against Tango. It seemed his body was beginning to decide for him that it was time to rest.

Tango brought his hand up to his rancher's hair, running his claws through the long strands in comfort. Whatever you want to do, I support it. That was how they always operated, wasn't it? He let his tail curl around Jimmy's talons. "I think either way, for now rest is in order."

That Jimmy found the strength to grumble about. "Fine, all of you can go hungry. I don't care."

"That's the spirit!" Tango chirped, hauling the whining avian to his feet. He couldn't pick him up with only one arm, so he resigned to dragging him down the hall. He stopped as they reached False, giving her a grateful smile before shuffling past her. He hissed as his stump bumped against the wall. Jimmy's head shot up immediately. "It's fine, I'm used to it." Tango strained to say through the jolt of pain. He'd forgotten just how tender it had been that day.

"You shouldn't be used to it." Jimmy chastised. "It's not healthy."

Tango gaped at him then burst out laughing, "Okay, Mister Hypocrite. Time to go to bed."

"Excuse me!"

[capquinn]

okay i keep seeing fics and thoughts about how attentive quinn would be towards his partner and it got me thinking…

i feel like it would get to the point where he knows your body and your queues better than you know yourself. start to realize your allergies aren’t allergies? he already bought the meds you need and is making dinner. got your period? no surprise there, he has his own app for you and stocked up on snacks last week.

which brings me to this heheh.

i feel like once you have one or two babies with quinn he knows your pregnancy symptoms like the back of his hand. so much so that he tells YOU you’re pregnant again. and it would just hit him one night laying in bed (you know that man thinks himself to sleep)

I’m gone for him, enjoy my delulu land thoughts

hello????? this is so cute and so husband!quinn coded. i love this trope sm <3

Quinn moved through your world like he’d been born knowing the map of it. His care wasn’t loud or showy — it was quiet, woven into the seams of everyday life. He had a way of catching the things no one else would: the small shift in your posture when you were tired, the pause in your laugh when something was weighing on you. His hands knew the rhythm of your days, reaching for your mug before you could, adjusting the blanket without needing to ask if you were cold. It wasn’t that he studied you; it was more like you existed in a frequency he was always tuned into, effortlessly aware of every note, every shift, every unspoken word.

So, when the subtle changes began to creep in, Quinn noticed before you did.

It started with the small things — too small to put into words, but just noticeable enough for him to store away. The way you sighed a little heavier, your shoulders barely lifting before falling, as though the weight of the day had settled in deeper than usual. Or how you hesitated in doorways, pausing like you’d forgotten what you needed or where you were going, your brows knitting together in quiet thought. And then there was the tiredness, creeping in like a quiet visitor. Some afternoons, he’d find you curled up with Bug during her nap, the two of you tangled in a mess of blankets on the couch, her tiny hand resting on your chest as you dozed. It wasn’t like you, not the you he knew who thrived on filling the hours, always moving, always doing.

At first, he dismissed it. Everyone had their moments, days when energy flagged, when the world felt a little out of sync. But then the bigger, more obvious changes began to take root.

It began with the walk. You, Quinn, and Bug strolled through the neighbourhood on a crisp winter morning, the kind where the air felt fresh but not too biting. Bug was hopping along, gripping Quinn’s hand and jumping over cracks in the pavement. You paused by a lamppost, your gaze snagged on a flyer stapled to the pole. It was for a missing dog, the corners frayed from the cold. The photo — a golden retriever with the sweetest, dopey smile — stared back at you, and your throat tightened inexplicably.

You tried to hide it, quickly swiping at the tears that pricked your eyes, but Quinn noticed instantly. “You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting in concern.

You nodded too quickly, your voice unconvincing. “I’m fine. It’s just…” You trailed off, breathing a shaky laugh as the tears spilled anyway. “The poor dog…”

Quinn stopped in his tracks, gently pulling Bug to his other side so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. “We’ll keep an eye out. Maybe someone’s already found him,” he said softly, though his brows furrowed as he held you. 

You were sentimental, yes, but crying over a lost dog poster wasn’t like you. He kissed the top of your head, the thought lingering as Bug tugged at his hand to keep moving.

A few days later, it happened again. Bug had tripped over a loose stone in the driveway. It wasn’t anything dramatic — just one of those little stumbles kids have a dozen times a day. She scraped her knee, barely even a mark, and at first, she just sat there staring at it, trying to decide if it was worth crying over. Her lips wobbled, her big eyes filling with tears, and then came the wail — not loud, not panicked, just enough to let you know she’d decided it hurt.

Quinn crouched beside her in a heartbeat, his voice gentle and steady. “Hey, Bug, you’re okay,” he murmured, brushing the tiny specks of gravel off her knees. His hand lingered there for a moment, his thumb grazing the fabric as if to check for any real damage. “It’s just a little scrape. Barely even a scratch, see?”

Bug sniffled, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of his shirt as she leaned toward him, and Quinn scooped her up without hesitation. She buried her face against his chest, her little body shuddering with the last remnants of her tears.

You stood a few steps back, frozen in place. It wasn’t the scrape that did it, not really. It was the way her small shoulders shook, the way her face had crumpled like her whole world had been upended. It was her tears — so big and overwhelming for someone so small. Watching her cry felt like something cracking open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, tears pricked at the corners of your own eyes.

Quinn looked up, catching your expression in an instant. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern shifting toward you.

“She’s okay,” he said softly, his voice meant to reassure.

But the sight of him, standing there with Bug tucked safely against his chest, his voice low and calming, only made the ache in your chest sharper. Your hand flew up to your face, brushing quickly at your cheek to catch the tear that escaped, but Quinn noticed anyway. Of course, he noticed.

“Hey,” he said, his tone even gentler now, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on?”

You tried to smile, but it came out shaky, your voice catching as you whispered, “Nothing, I’m fine. Just—” You swallowed hard, glancing at Bug’s little face as she peeked up at you, her tears already drying. “I’m being silly.”

She blinked at you, her sniffles slowing, her tiny voice soft as she said, “I’m okay, mommy.”

The sweetness of her reassurance undid you completely. Another tear slid down your cheek, and you let out a quiet, shaky laugh, brushing it away as Quinn stepped closer. He didn’t say anything, just wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you into the circle of warmth he and Bug created.

But even as the moment passed, it stayed with him. 

And then came the smell of popcorn.

Family movie night was the kind of weekly tradition that carried a quiet comfort, the kind that made the whole house feel warmer and softer. Bug had already claimed her spot on the couch, clutching her stuffed bear, her little feet kicking in excitement as Quinn rummaged in the kitchen, the air popper humming softly. The scent of fresh popcorn started wafting through the house, buttery and rich, and he could already hear Bug giggling at the first loud pop.

But something was off. 

You were mid-step to the couch, arms full of blankets, when you froze. Your nose crinkled, the kind of subtle movement Quinn might’ve missed if he hadn’t glanced up right then. You turned your head slightly, as if testing the air, and then your hand shot up, waving in front of your face like you could swat the smell away.

“Can you—” you hesitated, your voice uncharacteristically small. “Can you open the windows? Please?”

Quinn, mid-pour as the popcorn spilled into a bowl, paused, confused. “It’s freezing outside,” he said lightly, not in a way meant to argue but more like a question.

“Quinn, please” you said, cutting him off, your voice sharp with desperation. Your face had scrunched up, your hand pressing against your nose as you braced yourself on the back of a chair. “The smell...”

That was all it took. Without another word, he crossed to the window, shoving it open. A gust of cold air rushed in, making him shiver, but he stayed there for a second, staring at you as you sank onto the couch. You were pale, almost a little green, pulling the blanket over you like it could shield you from the lingering scent in the air.

He settled the bowl down, watching you carefully.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and steady, the way it always was when he was trying to gently coax the truth out of you. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone, just that familiar warmth that made it impossible to brush him off completely.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though the tight smile on your face didn’t convince him. “It’s just… the smell of melted butter. It’s so strong tonight.”

His gaze lingered, his brow furrowing. The smell? The smell of buttery popcorn? You’d practically declared it your comfort food not long ago, sneaking bites every time he made a batch before the film had even started, laughing as Bug scolded you for eating hers. He could count on one hand the number of family movie nights where you hadn’t stolen the first handful, claiming quality control. But now? Now, you looked like you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it.

“You want me to grab you something else? Crackers? Tea?” he offered, trying to fill the silence with solutions, throwing them out suggestions like lifelines.

You shook your head, brushing him off with a small wave. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

But Quinn wasn’t convinced. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as Bug wriggled into his lap, her giggles filling the room. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest, and for a while, it felt like everything was back to normal.

But it wasn’t.

As Bug chattered happily about the movie, Quinn’s mind lingered on you. On the way your face had twisted, the way you recoiled from something you once loved. It wasn’t like you. Not at all. And the longer he held you close, the more certain he became that this wasn’t just a bad reaction to popcorn. It was something more. He just didn’t know what — yet.

But the biggest changes came just a couple of days later, revealing themselves in moments that caught Quinn completely off guard.

It was early in the morning, the kind of stillness that only came before the rest of the house stirred awake. Bug was sound asleep in her room, her soft snores barely audible through the monitor, and the house seemed wrapped in a peaceful hush. The air between you and Quinn felt heavier, charged, but in the best way — soft whispers, shared breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed close.

His hands moved over your skin with practiced tenderness, his touch warm and familiar, every stroke an unspoken declaration of love. His lips followed, pressing soft, languid kisses along your collarbone, trailing a path that left your skin tingling. This was how he loved you — slowly, deeply, making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But then his lips brushed against your breast, featherlight, as if he was testing how far he could push before the teasing turned into something more. And yet—

“Quinn,” you whimpered, a sharp intake of breath cutting through the stillness as you shifted away from him. “Be gentle.”

He froze instantly, his concern immediate as he lifted his head to look at you. “I am,” he murmured, his voice quiet but tinged with confusion. He searched your face, his hands stilling on your waist as if waiting for you to say more.

You shook your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “It just… hurts,” you admitted, the words coming out softer than you intended, almost like you were embarrassed by them.

Quinn’s expression softened, an apology already forming in the tilt of his brow. He leaned in, brushing a kiss to the inside of your breast as though it could somehow make up for the discomfort, but you pulled away again, wincing before his lips even made full contact.

“Quinn, that hurts,” you repeated, a little louder this time, your hand coming up to shield yourself instinctively, a clear sign for him to avoid the area altogether.

His hands dropped to your hips, retreating as he leaned back, his brows knitting together further. He watched you carefully, his gaze full of questions he didn’t ask, giving you space but not pulling away entirely.

Quinn frowned, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing motion. “I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet sincerity.

“I know,” you replied quickly, offering him a small smile to reassure him. “It’s just… everything feels so sensitive.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck instead, but he could feel your hesitation, the way your body tensed slightly, as if bracing for more discomfort.

But even as he moved his touch elsewhere, skimming his hands over your back, your thighs, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Your reaction was unusual, out of sync with how things normally were between you. He’d always been attuned to your body, your needs, and this? This was different.

Still, when you pulled him closer, guiding him to where you wanted him, he let it go for now.

And it's later that night when everything makes perfect sense.

Quinn crawls into bed and the first thing he notices isn’t the movie playing on Netflix or the cosy way you’re propped up against the pillows. No, his attention zeroes in on the plate balanced on your lap — a plate of pickles, shiny and brined, with a big dollop of peanut butter right in the middle. His movements falter, half under the covers, as his eyes flick between you and the plate, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

You don’t even notice him staring, too distracted by scrolling through movie options. “What?” you ask, glancing over briefly before returning your attention to the TV.

“Who’s that for?” he asks, his voice slow, deliberate, like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“Me,” you reply without missing a beat, your tone distracted. “Why, you want some?”

He’s fully under the covers now, leaning back against the headboard, one brow raised as he studies you. “You hate pickles,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

You pause mid-bite, glancing over at him with a small frown. “I don’t hate them,” you argue, tone light but defensive, gesturing to the plate like it proves your point. “They’re just not my go-to snack. But they’re fine.”

His brow furrows deeper, his gaze flicking between you and the plate. “Since when?”

“Since now, I guess,” you shrug, as if it’s not worth discussing. Without missing a beat, you swipe another pickle through the peanut butter and take a bite, chewing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Quinn doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. The corner of his mouth twitches again, but this time it’s not amusement — it’s something closer to realisation. Something is clicking into place, and as he leans his head back against the pillows, his gaze softens, filled with something you can’t quite place.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him as you catch the look on his face. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He leans back against the pillows, shifting as if to settle in, and shrugs, his tone casual — too casual. “No reason,” he says, his voice smooth, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

You squint at him, suspicious. “Quinn…”

He shakes his head, lifting the blanket higher around his chest like it’s a shield, his eyes now glued to the TV. “Seriously,” he murmurs, his voice low, distracted. “It’s nothing.”

But you can see the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips press together like he’s holding back a grin. You open your mouth to press him further, but he shifts again, leaning into your side under the blanket as if that’s the end of the conversation.

Later, when the movie ends with a soft hum and the credits roll, the light from the screen flickers faint shadows across the room before everything dims into darkness. The lamp on the nightstand clicks off with a quiet snap, leaving the room bathed in a cosy stillness. The only sound now is Bug’s tiny snores filtering through the baby monitor, soft and steady, her little sighs rising and falling in a rhythm so gentle it could lull anyone to sleep.

You’re curled against Quinn’s side, warm and relaxed, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped around you as his fingers trace absentminded patterns over your back. The weight of the day lingers faintly in the air, softened by the quiet and the comfort of each other’s presence, and it should feel serene, the kind of moment Quinn would normally soak in without question, but not tonight.

His eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling though he isn’t really seeing it. His body is still, though his mind is anything but. It’s racing, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t even realise he was solving until tonight. The pickles and peanut butter. The popcorn. The tears over Bug’s scraped knee. The extra naps curled up on the couch. Each moment replays in his head, flashing brighter with every pass until there’s no way he can chalk it up to coincidence.

Bug’s little snore drifts through the monitor again, and he glances down at you, still nestled against him, your face soft and relaxed. He’s usually content to let moments like this pass unspoken, holding them close without the need to fill the silence. But tonight, the weight of what he’s realised feels too big to ignore.

It’s not nothing. Not even close.

“Baby?” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful not to break the quiet too harshly, trying not to startle you.

You hum softly against him, your head shifting slightly to nuzzle closer against him, your body too close to sleep to fully respond.

His hand stills on your back, and he swallows, the weight of what he’s about to say heavy in the stillness. “I think…” He draws in a breath, steeling himself for how to say it. “I think you’re pregnant.”

Slowly, you lift your head, your eyes meeting his in the dim light filtering through the blinds, your expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“What?” you whisper, your voice rough with sleep, your tone teetering between shock and amusement. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Quinn tilts his head down to meet your eyes, his own full of something soft and sure. There’s the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s both amused and completely serious all at once. Like he knows how absurd this might sound but believes it wholeheartedly.

“The pickles and peanut butter,” he says simply, his voice calm. “That’s not normal.”

You sit up a little, propping yourself on one elbow, your brow furrowing. “It’s not that weird,” you try to argue, though your voice wavers, betraying your uncertainty. “People eat stuff like that all the time.”

“Not you,” he counters immediately, insistent. His hand moves to rest on your waist, grounding. “You hate pickles. Always have. The only time you’ve ever eaten them was when you were pregnant.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His statement hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning, his certainty pressing against your rising disbelief.

“I mean… that’s not…” you start, your voice trailing off as the pieces begin to fall into place in your mind. “That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant,” you insist, but even as you say it, doubt creeps in. Your free hand drifts unconsciously to your stomach, resting there like it might offer some kind of confirmation.

Quinn’s thumb brushes against your side, the touch grounding but gentle, as if he doesn’t want to push you too far, too fast. “Maybe,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s offering you the space to deny it if you want. “But you’ve been tired, more emotional… and now this?” His lips twitch again, the faintest smile playing there, but his eyes stay steady on yours, filled with a quiet conviction.

You blink at him, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest — not from amusement, but disbelief. “Quinn, people eat weird food combos all the time. This doesn’t mean—”

“You really think it’s just a coincidence?” he interrupts gently, his tone more curious than challenging. “Pickles and peanut butter, of all things? That was your thing, baby. With Bug.”

The reminder makes you pause, your brow furrowing deeper as you glance down at where his hand rests on your waist. “That was… different,” you mutter, though the protest sounds weak even to your own ears.

Quinn leans in slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours, the closeness pulling your gaze back to his. His eyes are soft but insistent, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His face is so steady, so full of quiet certainty, and it makes something flicker in your chest — a suspicion, a possibility, something you hadn’t let yourself consider until now.

“You’re serious,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, the words more of an observation than a question, as if it’s just dawning on you that he isn’t joking. He genuinely believes it.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I know you,” he murmurs, his tone as gentle s his touch. “And I’m telling you… you’re pregnant.”

You blink at him, your lips parting slightly, but no real words come out at first. Then, with a quiet laugh that’s half disbelief, half affection, you shake your head and murmur, “how do you always figure me out before I do?”

Quinn’s lips curve into a soft, lopsided smile, the kind that makes your chest ache with how much love it holds. “I pay attention,” he says simply, his hand still cradling your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye.

You lean into his touch, your own hand coming up to rest lightly over his wrist. "And what if you're wrong?"

His chuckle rumbles low and easy in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there like he’s trying to pass some of his certainty onto you. "I don’t think I am," he says, his voice gentle, but the confidence behind it makes your pulse hum.

You don’t argue. Instead, you let the quiet between you stretch, the weight of his words settling softly over you. It’s fragile and insistent, nudging at the edges of your disbelief, coaxing you to consider it.

The idea blooms slowly, like a dawning realisation, soft and tentative, but impossible to ignore. It unfolds in layers — the thought of two children filling your home with laughter and chaos, the sight of Bug as a big sister, her tiny hands guiding even tinier ones, her voice full of pride and importance. You can almost hear the way she’d say it, proclaiming herself the helper, the protector, the best big sister in the world. The idea of another little person, someone with Quinn’s soft eyes and quiet strength, someone who might scrunch their nose when they smile, just like he does. Another piece of him, and of you, wrapped up into someone entirely their own. The thought is overwhelming in its sweetness, in the weight of its possibility.

You press closer against Quinn’s chest, your head resting over his heart as his fingers trace those lazy, familiar patterns on your back. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear, grounding you in the moment, as if reminding you that you don’t have to figure it all out right now. And as the quiet fills the room, pierced only by Bug’s little sighs through the monitor, you let yourself imagine it more fully, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe — just maybe — he’s right.

[insomniadreamzz]

Can I please make a request for Jinx x fem reader.

I was thinking reader has really really dry skin, and forgets to use moisturizer. Maybe one day Jinx sees readers cracking bleeding hands and freaks out! Could it please end with soft Jinx rubbing in moisturizer to readers hands.

Thank you!

I care for you

Jinx x Fem!Reader

The cold weather made your skin feel all itchy since you had naturally a very dry skin, making you have a hard time during winter. Usually you knew about this issue but these days you were way too busy to care for yourself.

You were busy going on missions, helping Jinx out whenever she needed something but you didn’t get a lot of time to talk to her since she was busy herself. You missed having time only for you two without being stressed.

The blue haired girl entered her hideout after a long, stressful day. Her pink eyes scanning the area, searching for you. When her eyes looked at the floor, she saw little drops of blood on it, causing her to freak out immediately.

What if something happened to you? What if you are hurt? It’s her fault she left you alone. All of those thoughts made her nearly panic but she tried her best to not lose herself completely. You needed to be somewhere in here and you might needed her help.

Jinx shouted your name, trying to get your attention and she got greeted by you looking like you just napped, which you did. „Why are you yelling??…“ You asked her as you rub your eyes, her being too focused on being happy to see you are fine so she didn’t notice your hands, rushing over to you and hugged you so tightly you nearly fell down. „I am so glad! I-I saw blood, I thought you are injured…I thought something bad happened to you. I am never gonna leave you alone again!“ She cried in your arms, even though she had no reason to feel worried you got badly injured, you knew she thought you were nearly dead but then she pulled back to take a better look at you, her eyes scanning your body for possible injuries.

„Jinx…I am fine please. I just napped.“ You said with a little soft groan. She only stopped once she took your hands in hers, you were surprised yourself, you didn’t realise the skin on your hands were cracking and bleeding. „Y-You are bleeding! Why are you lying to me?!“ She began to panic again, her hands gently holding yours as she took a better look at them, then she looked up into your eyes again. You couldn’t tell if she was sad or just really mad at this point. Probably both.

„You shouldn’t lie to me! I thought you love me…why did you lie to me? You’re just like everyone else aren’t you??“ Her voice cracked and her body was shaking. You still were a little overwhelmed by her reaction, sometimes you just forgot how mentally unstable your girlfriend was and that every tiny thing could make her explode into a anxious mess.

„But-…Jinx I was sleeping. I am confused as well.“ You really didn’t notice your skin was already cracking on your hands, you just kept doing your work and maybe you also overworked yourself and just fell asleep without noticing anything on your hands.

She looks at you and within seconds she slapped across your face, leaving a red mark on your cheek. „Liar!“ She was still stuck in her own mind, the voices in her head getting louder as she fell on her knees and holding her head, driving totally away as she grumbled, talking to the voices in her head. You kneeled down in front of her, Jinx shifting away from you. „Hey…why would I lie to my love? You know I would never. I promised you.“ You said with a soft voice, trying to calm her down. Your heart broke seeing her cry and struggle about something you didn’t even notice. She was breathing heavily as she looked at you but you knew she was still stuck, struggling with herself.

„You know I do have naturally a very dry skin don’t you? I told you once. This cold weather makes it worse and…I didn’t put moisturiser on my hands like I should and that causes them to crack and it can get so bad that they start bleeding on some places. No one hurt me. I am fine.“ You tried to explain to her as you looked straight into her eyes. Your words sounding serious and she slowly started to come back to you to reality, her breathing getting slower and steadier.

„I love you. I would never betray you.“ You said before taking the chance to place a kiss on her lips, the voices in her head fading as she felt your lips on hers and she finally relaxed. Jinx went back to reality and she kissed you back.

„Why…why didn’t you take care of yourself?“ She mumbled before getting up. „Stay where you are.“ She said and in a few seconds she got back to you with moisturiser you usually used and gently rubbed it on your hands. Her touch was so gentle like being scared to crush your hands, it was so cute you couldn’t help but smile at her, watching her being very focused on helping you.

„If you don’t take care of yourself…I will take care of you.“ And she meant it. From now on she won’t miss a day to remind you of using your moisturiser on your hands so you won’t get hurt again.

She will always take care of you just like you take care of her.

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part iii: at your best you were magic

(this one has length, you guys, but the boys needed so much RESOLUTION 🥺)

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤❤️

<<< part two // start at the beginning

Eddie kind of expects to be clocked hovering outside the window, or by the rattle of his van. He kinda expects to be left standing on the porch.

His heart’s fucking pounding, and he’s halfway to shivering because he didn’t wear a decent coat, because no one’s there anymore to bully him into being a little more aware of taking care of himself and he…he kinda feels like he did when he was running for his life, when they found him in Rick’s boathouse, he’s maybe gonna hyperventilate and wouldn’t that be a pretty fucking picture, pass out from lack of oxygen, or die flat-out, heart giving out on the steps of the man he loves, that he loves and that he wasn’t good enough to keep and—

“Oh.”

It doesn’t even matter how flat it comes out: Eddie’s breath catches just to hear that voice, holy fuck.

“Steve.”

He can’t even keep the word in, that single name in his chest knocked clean to launch from his lips, and Steve…

Steve looks rough. Drawn, kinda pale but in that exhausted washed out way where he’s not just blanched for his skin tone but in a way that makes the saturation of his whole self seem washed out and sallow. He’s got more stubble than he normally allows, much as Eddie has enjoyed the hell out of that gorgeous scruff now and again—he knows Steve only lets it get that way when they fuck too many hours in a row to want to get out of bed and properly plan to leave, or of he’s sick, or anxious, or…

Not good.

Eddie thinks it’s probably the generally not-good thing that’s to blame, here.

And yet somehow he’s still the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen in his whole fucking life. No contest.

God, Eddie’s so fucking gone on him. All he wants is to reach, and pull him close, and keep all the sour things from his heart. All Eddie wants is to fucking…love him. For the rest of his goddamn life.

“I,” Eddie’s voice comes out raw, sandpaper rubbing to bleed; he would have wanted better, Steve deserved him to be better no matter what they were, what they weren’t, what they’d never be or maybe could be—but Eddie knows he’s weak as a rule, and here and now he breaks clean open, heart cleaving straight down the middle to bleed free because…

Fuck: Eddie had been hurting for being without Steve, but he’d underestimated just how much seeing him, breathing his air again would undo him. The sheer relief down to his cells, just to know in his bones that Steve was in the world. He’d been less than a shell, he’d been only half-floating through the world on his own for the way he’d healed himself around the give and take of Steve and to know it again, even just at arm’s length, feels like breaking water for the first time after drowning, but then it every single atom of him had been diminished on its own, then started vibrating again all at once after a fucking age spent stopped-dead.

“What are you doing here?”

Of all the things Eddie could hate out of the situation he’s standing in—outside of anything and everything that surrounds the fact of Steve, all that is Steve because that could never be hated at all—but of all the things to hate, the worst is maybe how flat Steve’s tone is. And worse?

How Eddie can’t read him. How, how did Eddie…

How did Eddie lose that?

“I,” Eddie moves his mouth, lips stretching awkward around the sound, and he’s adrift, man, he’s fucking loose ends with no hope of ever tying together, ever tethering to anything but the man in front of him, he believes that in his soul: with anyone else, anywhere but here, and Eddie would still just have this collection of stray threads of what it means to be himself, just reaching for Steve fucking Harrington forever and for always, holy fuck, and—

“I’m,” he grasps as best he can at the straws of what it means to form a thought, but all of what he comes up with is insufficient, rehashes the same core sentiment: I’m less of a person when I’m not with you, I’m scared by what that means but I’m more scared by what it means not to have you, I’m most scared by how hollow your eyes look and how dry your hair is at the ends because I pay attention where maybe almost everyone else has been letting that slide under the radar, I’m so fucking in love with you I think they could cut me open and only find you inside, I’m yours and I will be yours long after I’m more soil than corpse in the fucking ground, I’m—

“Jesus,” Steve huffs, and something in Eddie’s chest perks up at the bitchy little tone he throws put as he seems to give up on whatever was letting him stand in the doorway as he throws the door open and backs up into the hall, waving Eddie’s direction with too much resignation: “get in here, you’re gonna get frostbite, man.”

And maybe there’s a plummeting in Eddie’s gut at the tone but…he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He also doesn’t need to experience the thickness of the tension that descends immediately between them once the door clicks closed, suffocating, burning in his lungs.

“Hey,” the word gets punched out of him, not least because Eddie’s a little afraid that he won’t be able to draw another breath to get anything further said.

“Hey.”

And Eddie still can’t fucking read him, and holy shit, does it sting.

“Steve,” he only just manages not to moan but then—

“Why are you here?”

And it’s so…toneless. Kinda curt. So blunt and somehow Eddie feels it more like a spike, a fucking harpoon through his sternum that drags bloody against his heart with every goddamn beat.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips; “Dustin, he was—”

“Oh,” Steve sighs a little, bitter at the edges and Eddie’s just grateful that it’s something; “he send you?”

And Eddie doesn’t expect to feel it like a slap to his fucking face like this but: fuck if he doesn’t. Fuck if that’s not exactly what it is.

“No one sent me,” Eddie’s fucking quick to correct that because Dustin may have begged him, but Eddie thinks his heart’s been ready to scramble to Steve’s doorstep and maybe just fucking grovel and promise to try and be whatever about him made Steve happy to begin with, or not be whatever put Steve off of him and they could be happy again, maybe, and Eddie’s chest could feel less in a vise all the goddamn time.

“He, uh,” and Eddie stumbles a little around giving context when all Steve does is raise a doubtful brow at his denial that he’s here primarily because of anyone but himself.

“He said some stuff that,” Eddie swallows hard, works his throat around a lot of half-formed things he doesn’t think he can quite get out before he ultimately just rasps:

“I got worried.”

“Nice of you,” Steve laughs a little save there’s no humor, sniffs a little and it’d read haughty if you didn’t know what to look for, if you couldn’t tell that Steve’s eyes are stretched too wide, and shine a little too bright and his hand’s twitching to rise to the bridge of his nose and pinch which only ever means—

“Not necessary though.”

And it’s so hollow, it’s just…it’s filled with so much nothing, those words, that voice, that it’s an anguish all on its own, and fuck, but how Eddie’s voice breaks on the next words that he doesn’t even give conscious consent to even come out at all:

“You’re supposed to be happy, Stevie.”

He feels the way his lashes stick as he blinks too fast, his heart hurting because Steve looks like he’s in fucking pain and why are they both in pain—

But Steve’s expression is all scrunched up, and he’s frowning, fucking baffled at Eddie from across the space, so small, cramped to the wall next to the closed front door but as good as a continent, an ocean stretched between for how Eddie’s can feel his heat, can’t reach, and then Steve’s squinting and near snapping:

“What?”

And it’s said so sharp but then weirdly without the bite in its anding, like he’s too worn down, too drained somehow to manage it, or even really want to. Eddie..

Eddie isn’t sure he wants to keep learning just how many times, how many ways a heart can fucking break.

“I,” Eddie’s throat’s dry as shit and he cannot possibly care because his heart’s pounding in a way he doesn’t know he’s felt before, because it’s all wrong, isn’t it, it’s all so fucking wrong; “whatever I was doing that was bringing you down,” he shakes his head, desperate as he leans forward to Steve as far as he dares, closer but not close enough, never close enough:

“If I’m gone, you’re supposed to be happy and it’s like,” Eddie groans, and maybe it’s more of a whine really, fuck it all, that fits, that fucking makes sense because; “you didn’t want me here anymore, so I—”

“I never said I didn’t want you here.”

Eddie startles, heart in his throat again and hammering, violent and hellbent as Steve cuts him off, voice bowstring-taut where it cuts through the mounted tension, but does nothing to diminish it in the process; does nothing to ease the way it makes Eddie’s pulse work harder, desperate to fight the weight of it.

“I have never once wanted you to be anywhere but here,” and Steve’s voice is fucking…pained and just, just: how?

“Stevie,” Eddie pleads, because he doesn’t fucking understand; “you flinched when I touched you,” and Steve does it just then, the slightest bit; Eddie’s chest clenches just at the echo of it.

“You moved away from my mouth when I tried to kiss you,” and oh, how that had hurt, how that had withered things in Eddie’s ribs that never died long, just regrew to be burned back because Eddie didn’t know how not to love Steve, didn’t want to know such an unthinkable thing: but good fucking god, if it didn’t start to hurt worse than dying when Steve stopped wanting him—and Eddie was okay with it not being love, for Steve, with it being too much or maybe too soon but he’d…

He’d believed what they had was something beautiful; he’d clung maybe foolishly to the possibility of…maybe Steve someday growing into love with him.

And then he’d pulled back; then he’d spurned Eddie’s affection with his body, he didn’t even have to say it, it was sown in his skin, he…

“That’s not tru—” Steve starts, tone tight as he tries to defend but: no. No, Eddie hadn’t fucking created his own heartbreak from whole cloth, without reason.

“You turned, repeatedly,” Eddie hates that it comes out as accusatory as it does, but he…he wasn’t fucking imagining it, he hadn’t been because you can’t make up that kind of knife in your chest, you can’t.

“You tried to make it look like a coincidence. But when you keep getting your mouth on the man you lo—” and Eddie, he chokes it back as much as it wants to come out, to be spoken and known even if it’s not returned, never returned because it’s not going away, it’s never going away, but he, he—

He can’t. Not…not now.

“When you keep getting your mouth on your guy’s cheek and not his lips, damn,” Eddie’s breathing shudders; “you fuckin’ notice.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his gaze has shifted to the ground. Eddie…doesn’t know if he should take that as permission to keep going. He doesn’t even know if he wants to keep going in the first place.

His heartbeat’s still a torrent, though, and he…he doesn’t know if he could stop the words that come next if he tried.

“You stayed on your side of the bed all curled up, like you,” Eddie swallows hard, because what he’s about to say out loud fucking hurts to put into words; goddamn—because he thinks it’s true:

“You made yourself small to not be near me.”

Steve’s shoulders shift, then, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring at the floor.

“You won’t even look at me when all your plans to avoid me go wrong and we actually miraculously end up in the same place because of the kids,” Eddie keeps going because he’s opened the floodgates, he’s let the feeling in him sneak through and it was too fucking big, it tore off the dams he tried to put in place to hold it all at bay; “if you can’t get away quick enough, every time I almost catch your eyes you look like you’re in pain,” and he looks like it now, he looks like he’s just made of hurting: “you jump like you got burnt.”

Steve’s next inhale is a sharp gasp of a thing. Eddie tries very hard not to feel something like victory to get somereaction from him.

He fails miserably.

“Robin hisses at me when I see her,” Eddie keeps on, because he wasn’t lying, the gates have been obliterated, there are no guardrails left for the way his heart’s such a mess and it’s spilling onto everything, into everything; “and I’m convinced she’s basically your subconscious manifest when it comes to who she turns her venom on,” and even Eddie would have missed it if he hadn’t been fixated unwavering on Steve in all of his glory, now: those lips don’t quirk, exactly, but they move the slightest bit.

Eddie, again, didn’t really think that his heart could learn to break in any more ways, but: here he is.

“You didn’t pick up the phone—” he damn near fucking moans because it hurts, it still hurts, it might always hurt—

“You didn’t leave a message.”

Steve’s volley is clipped, a not-so-subtle indictment, gaze flicking upward when he speaks and Eddie’s caught in those sad fucking eyes so swift and complete, it feels like all that he is might be forfeit in their hold.

He’s okay with that, though. He’s been okay with that—more than.

It’s when he’s nothing to that gaze, when Steve can’t even bring himself to look, that Eddie starts to crumble.

“The machine isn’t on,” he breathes out, barely a whisper, and Steve just blinks, then looks back at the ground and Eddie…Eddie’s not this strong, y’know? Eddie’s been barely anything for weeks, in so many ways, and he…he can’t just keep holding himself together when all he sees is Steve in pain, when his own pain makes him weak on top of everythingbegs.

“Steve,” he murmurs, nothing short of a plea for fucking mercy, for this man to take pity and maybe just explain a little, help Eddie understand where it all went wrong; “talk to me.”

And Eddie isn’t expecting it when it happens, given the mostly-stoic mask Steve’s perfected to keep him at bay: but when Steve breathes in deep and the motion, the sound of it shatters around something broken like a sob?

Eddie breaks right along with it.

“Jesus,” he half-gasps; “you need to sit down, sweetheart, come on,” because Steve’s shaking, fucking shaking where he stands; “here, I—”

And Eddie reaches, hand fucking trembling as he forces himself to keep enough distance for it to have to be Steve’s choice to touch, because if Steve doesn’t want him, if Steve doesn’t want any of him, ever, then Eddie has to learn that’s what his world is, that’s what his world will always be, no matter how his heart aches with it all and—

Steve steps, leans, and Eddie doesn’t need more assent than that; feels his nerves light up when Steve gives into his touch, doesn’t shy from the way Eddie’s grip tightens on his arms as he walks them slow from the door to the living room, to the couch where he settles Steve carefully near where the throw pillows will cushion him; reins himself in from finding a blanket he knows is in the cabinet hidden by the TV and wrapping Steve up tight in it, keeps himself from sitting next to him too close, stops himself from gathering Steve in his arms, but…he can’t go too far.

He can’t.

“This okay?” Eddie asks gently as he can when he settles down the shortest distance away that he can justify, that he thinks he can get away with; Steve doesn’t stop him, doesn’t react and Eddie’ll fucking take that.

He doesn’t even wholly-consciously put his hand, palm-up, on the cushion between them; certainly doesn’t expect anything but for Steve to scoot further from it once he realizes it’s there, but then—

Then Steve’s hand is landing in Eddie’s, and Eddie…after the shock settles, he fucking folds his grip around Steve so goddamn tight.

And Steve doesn’t fucking flinch away.

“Talk to me, Stevie,” Eddie breathes out, his heart doing wild things for the way it feels to touch that skin again, even so slight, so innocent: it’s everything. “Stevie, please,” and he wasn’t above begging before; with Steve’s hand in his he’s sure as shit not above it, now.

Eddie thinks he’s holding out for nothing, then he scolds himself—he’s not holding out for nothing, he’s got Steve’s hand in his hand, he can feel Steve’s pulse at the wrist and yeah it’s too heavy, it’s too fast and all Eddie ever wanted to was to be the safe place that Steve’s tension could ease into but the proof of life, of Steve, here, with him, is enough, it’s enough and Eddie is a rich man beyond measure, he’s, he is, it’s—

“I’m,” Eddie jumps a little, clings tighter to the palm pressed against his own when that voice scratches low into the space between them, and then starts to bleed feeling deep and unbridled when Steve whispers harsh:

“It was already so fucking hard, before I loved you.”

And Eddie…look.

Eddie’s felt ice run through him before. He’s felt it when he ran terrified from what it meant to face down death. He’s felt it in another dimension as the bat bites stole the life from him. He’s felt it in his room because he’d lost the sun he’d shaped his world to orbit around, to draw life from.

But…Eddie’s not sure he’s felt it take him over quite like it does just now; like it does when he has to ask, because there’s nothing else for it, he has to know and so he has to be the one to invite the ice into all he holds dear and maybe fucking ruin them both when he says it, pushes them past this point of no return:

“What’s hard, Stevie?”

And he waits, again, and tries not to fall for being too greedy, for getting too much when he’s grown horribly accustomed to nothing, and he should just give thanks for the way he can hear Steve breathe, a fucking miracle, a gift; he doesn’t dwell on just how much the idea of Steve answering, of Steve speaking more and telling Eddie what went wrong, where Eddie maybe went wrong—

“Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” is what Steve says, plain like reciting a law of physics, a rule of the universe. “And I wasn’t even in love with you yet.”

Eddie…feels bowled over and a little light-headed. Steve…loved him? He knew he loved him like he loved the Party at large, fought for them all, would stupidly give his whole fucking life for each and every one of them but…this kinda sounds like more, and maybe Eddie’s just got rose-colored glasses over it all, maybe he’s suffocating himself under the veil of wishful thinking—

But then he sobers because: loved. Loved. Maybe it’s just what he’s saying and how he’s saying it, like, incidental.

But it also sounds…past tense. And Eddie’s heart, like; Eddie thinks somehow his heart wails for the idea that he had this singular, precious man, maybe even his singular, precious heart, all this time, but now, now he doesn’t, and—

“I can’t sleep. I’m just…” Steve shudders, and Eddie, he has to just grip harder to Steve’s hand; if he can’t hold to more of him, he has to hold hard to what he’s allowed, what he does have.

“I woke up next to you, the most random morning, nothing out of the ordinary,” Steve says it, voice a little distant, all of it sounding more like a story than anything save for how Eddie can still feel Steve’s rabbit heart under his fingertips.

“And I realized how fucking deep I was in this,” and Steve turns Eddie’s hand a little in his own, spins one of his rings like he used to and Eddie’s breath catches for it because it feels too intimate, it feels too right, like a dream that’ll fade so fast, that’ll decimate him all over again, what’s left of him, in an instant when it’s gone again.

“So fast, I know,” and Steve says it like he has to justify his heart like this, and Eddie’s struck with the stark realization of just how well he must have been able to hide what he thought he’d been broadcasting to the fucking cosmos despite his best efforts not to be too much, or too intense, or too insane.

Not to broadcast to the world the obvious truth that his heart got rewired early to beat in the rhythm that spelled Steve Harrington out in the goddamn stars—but Steve doesn’t seem to have seen it. Or maybe…didn’t believe what it was if he did catch a glimpse.

Fuck.

“And it was never about, like, what if you didn’t feel the same, or weren’t ready, that’s not, I mean,” Steve tosses his head a little, and it’s not just that the concept is already absolutely absurd—how could Eddie know Steve, truly come to know Steve, and be anything but ready to offer all that he is to him in half-a-blink?—but it’s more than that, it’s that Eddie can feel that it’s just going to get worse, that it’s going to be more devastating when Steve finishes that thought—

“I’m used to that, I wasn’t planning on saying anything, at least not yet.”

That. That is more devastating, because how can Steve be used to not being loved with everything, it never fails to break Eddie when it’s pointed out, when he’s reminded that so many people had hurt him, had failed him, and now, now…had Eddie done it too, without ever meaning—

But even more than all of that, fucking selfishly: Steve had been thinking of things in terms of not yet. Of a future, where they had love.

Eddie’s heart’s fucking sick with it, reluctant to pump at all because it just…it just feels pointless.

What had he fucking done?

“It wasn’t something I even planned on having change how I acted, really,” Steve’s continuing on, like the things he’s saying aren’t earth-shattering, soul-torching; “realizing I was like, whole-heart, soul-deep in love with you was…” and Steve just shakes his head and oh, oh but his lips kinda curve, he kinda smiles, and it’s…

It’s full of so much regret, like, a wistful thing in the worst goddamn way, and Eddie doesn’t think he can recover from this. He…doesn’t even know where to start.

“It wasn’t that new, right, it didn’t just happen, the only sudden part was putting it together, like, consciously,” Steve lays out like he’s making a map to try and explain to Eddie how his heart moves, as if Eddie hasn’t been making a study of that singular thing for months, planning to continue it for a lifetime, and apparently still failing to realize so much that he’s missed.

“So it’s not like, I mean…” Steve worries his lower lip; “I’d still treat you the same, y’know? I didn’t have to change. And you didn’t have to know.”

“But,” Eddie can’t hold himself back before his mouth moves before he thinks twice, automatic because; “you…”

The way Steve changed, the way they changed was…that’s the reason for all of it, and if Steve specifically hadn’t—

“Oh don’t worry,” Steve bites, so fucking sarcastic, so dismayed and so…goddamn resigned, unconscionably disgusted:

“I’m fucking well aware.”

And Steve folds in on his himself, and Eddie…Eddie can’t maintain the distance anymore. If Steve doesn’t want it, he’ll move back but he, he needs to be close enough that Steve could fall into him, if he wanted—

It takes less than a heartbeat, and given how Eddie’s pulse is auditioning for the role of a caged bird sobbing, it’s swift: as soon as he’s close enough to think he can feel how Steve’s body moves the air around him just for breathing, never once letting go of Steve’s hand in the process, Steve’s following the slightest pull Eddie gives on that hand, and falling into Eddie’s side.

And fuck if Eddie doesn’t wrap around him the instant he’s pressed against him; if he doesn’t tuck Steve into him and keep him under his arm; doesn’t sink into and relish the way the weight of Steve’s head goes just to the side of his chest, can undoubtedly hear the cacophony inside, and…he just presses harder, nearer.

Eddie might fucking cry.

“Nightmares,” Steve finally croaks, and the way it resonates, the way it hangs foreboding as a horror is thick in Eddie veins. “Like I’ve never had before, not after any of it,” and he shivers, ducks somehow closer into Eddie’s collarbone, like he means to hide and of course Eddie will keep him, will shield him, will protect him from the whole goddamn world. For anything and everything.

For fucking ever.

“I know what your chest feels like without a heartbeat I can find,” Steve turns his face further into Eddie’s chest, will damn well fucking feel the skip of that heartbeat that’d be a trial not to find just now, and oh, oh just: Stevie.

“What your mouth feels like without breath coming out, what your lips feel like cold,” and he sounds so tormented, so wrecked but then beyond that: disassembled and left for carrion, unforgivable—Steve should only be treasured, not taken apart and…discarded.

Eddie…Eddie didn’t discard him, he would never.

So how the fuck did they end up here, like this, where Eddie’s just trying to hold Steve close enough, steady enough that he can staunch all the invisible, undeniable bleeding in him?

“I know what your blood tastes like,” Steve breathes into the notch between his clavicles; “because it was all over when I tried to breathe for you.”

Steve’s mouth’s right there when Eddie’s breath caches, when the whine brews just under his lips where they drag sloppy against Eddie’s shirt, wet on the cotton and so alive, so alive—

“I know how my heart stopped when I thought it had all be for nothing,” Steve whispers there, and then holds where Eddie knows he can feel the pulse; “that I’d failed you, that—”

And Steve shakes his head, and Eddie makes to speak, to tell Steve he could never fail him, not ever, but Steve seems to have broken his own floodgates, now, and he spills:

“But that’s wasn’t new, right, so I wasn’t expecting any of it to shift, y’know? Like, if anything I figured, with love in the mix it’d be more, like, fear of rejection, shit from, just, with all the girls, with Nance, like all that old high school bullshit would be what reared its head,” he laughs, the most tragic sort of agony in the sound where it never should be, where there should only ever be Steve’s joy:

“But nope. Nope, my scrambled goddamn brain decided fuck that, let’s try something else.”

And Eddie can’t seem to get any words out anymore, now, much as he wants to. His mouth’s too dry, throat too tight. He just clings, clings so tight and fucking…prays that Steve can feel in his hold, in his heartbeat, in everything between them here and now, that he loves all of Steve. That all he is, is committed to making sure that Steve doesn’t hurts like this anymore, ever again.

If Steve will let him.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Steve whispers, “I never,” and he shakes his head, smashes his lips over his teeth, jaw tense enough to twitch and Eddie just wants to fix it, just wants to ease all of it and make Steve okay, and somehow make up for how he—despite never meaning to, despite never choosing to be—seems to be the reason Steve’s in such turmoil, such pain.

“I can see how it looked like that, like, I hear what you’re saying and I get it, but,” Steve licks his lips, brow furrowing in the way Eddie loves to smooth but he doesn’t think he can, now, doesn’t think he should and it’s twice the wound just to watch like this: to know it might not be welcome, and to know that Steve may have to hurt here, beyond Eddie’s capacity to soothe, in trying to work through what it is that’s gutting him so harsh.

“When you’d reach for me, sometimes it would jolt me out of the, like, fog of it all,” Steve finally says it, tells him without looking to make eye contact but he’s tracing Eddie’s fingers, now, and it feels…significant; “because it’s the worst when I sleep, when I see all the what-ifs, but when I wake up it always lingers, and I get lost in it all the same, it all hits just a little different from what’s actually happening and then from the dreams, how it was when I’d watched just seconds before, when you’d,” and as much the words dry up in an instant, choked on a swallowed-down sob, Eddie can hear the obvious ringing out as if it was ripped straight from that precious fucking chest, raw and bloody:

When in the dreams, you’d died.

“You in reality was just, so opposite to what everything in my head sticks on?” Steve breathes, less a question than a plea for Eddie to accept what he’s saying, to understand and believe, as if Eddie would, could do anything else; as if the way the sheer truth of it in Steve’s aching tone isn’t soaking into the layers of Eddie’s fucking heart and flaying the pieces apart in real time. “The echos, the, umm,” Steve swallows, and Eddie cannot look away from the way how he swallows stretches the skin of his throat; “the ghosts of the horror shows I get on repeat every time I close my eyes,” he screws his eyes shut, then, like it’s muscle memory, like it’s ordained and unavoidable, to recoil from the magnitude of what haunts him in the night.

“Like, how could you be touching me, when you were…”

Steve lifts their clasped hands to his mouth and Eddie nearly comes apart for how it feels, but then at the very same time he aches for the way Steve’s hand can’t wholly stop trembling, even as he pulls Eddie’s pulsepoint to the swell of his lips where he murmurs:

“How could you be warm?”

Eddie watches, refuses to blink, as Steve holds there, breathes there, nuzzles a little against Eddies wrist and drags his lips there, back and forth and Eddie might fucking die here and now, like this, because it’s perfection, but at the same time, it’s devastation incarnate.

It’s pure fucking pain.

“I didn’t want to make you feel how the,” Steve’s throat clicks for how hard he swallows; “how the things in my head felt. Especially after the first few times,” he shakes his head, and Eddie can taste his own pulse for how hard it beats at the base of his throat; “I couldn’t tell what was real, when you were against me. Because it felt more real then anything, but I’d just watched you,” and again, the unspoken is louder than words themselves could ever be:

But I’d just watched you die.

Eddie wants nothing more than to slice himself open somehow, and gather Steve inside him and hold him closer than close, so that he can know all the reassurance he needs and Eddie can know it too, at the very same time; so they can know each other’s lifeblood as close as their own, because for Eddie, Steve’s is closer, means more than his own: he just wants to gather Steve close and keep him so fucking safe. Keep the whole of him, unwavering.

“It scared the hell out of me, but then the first time I woke you up,” Steve closes his eyes, bites at his lip again.

“You were out of it, I think I scared you, too, and I couldn’t even see everything beautiful about you without seeing,” and Steve’s voice is a harrowing thing, is so fucking gutted out, and Eddie just wants to be…Eddie just needs to go back to that moment, he can’t even remember the moment where he didn’t even know he failed to make Steve feel better, safer, not fucking alone and all he wants is to go back and find that turning point and turn it on its head. Make it right.

But then Steve is gabbing his hand, and lacing their fingers so tight it fucking hurts in the best possible way, before he breathes out a whisper:

“It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, when it actually happened,” and they both know he means the bats, and the blood, and the red lightning sky; “but it’s like my brain got stuck there, like it stopped at the losing and not what came after,” and Steve brings Eddie’s hands up to his lips and less kisses, more buries his face in Eddie’s hands and just breathes before he moans a little around the words left:

“It got stuck, and it just runs from there.”

And if that’s not the simplest line of pure ruinous hurt that Eddie’s ever heard, holy fuck.

“Stevie,” and it’s Eddie who moans around the word, now, because god, his baby’s been aching with all this for…for how long?

“You hold your breath sometimes when we kiss,” Steve says, more incidental on the back of a breath, mostly air around the moving of his lips; “and when my head’s been like this, just, soaked in this, I can’t—”

And, oh.

Oh, Steve’s…Steve’s telling him why. He’s explaining why he, why he did all the…why he turned away, why he pulled back, and oh, oh god—

“Robin doesn’t know all the details,” he pushes on, and Eddie can see how he’s biting down on his tongue fucking hard behind his lips; “I’m sorry she’s been,” he huffs a little, tips his head as he circles his thumb a little against Eddie’s knuckle; “growly at you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie breathes, cupping Steve’s face because he…he needs to, he needs to show him he’s cherished, that Eddie’s heart is his, fucking beats for him and belongs to him and he, he is…

“Baby, don’t be sorry about anything, please don’t be sorry,” Eddie begs because, because fuck: “I’m the one who’s sorry,” and he is, he’s so sorry, he didn’t know but he never wants Steve to hurt and he’s only made Steve hurt harder because he thought he understood and was doing what he could to help and in truth he was doing anything but—

“I couldn’t look at you because my heart hurt,” Steve turns his face into the palm Eddie’s framed against his cheek; “and I know you stepped away because I can’t get my shit together, because I’m losing my fucking mind and,” but he didn’t, he didn’t and he wants to say it but Steve’s barreling on, convinced as fuck and that’s, that’s not okay; “and I know, of course I know that it’s better that you don’t go down with me, I know that. But fuck,” Steve laughs in that terrible, self-sacrificing way that has no idea what he’s worth, what he means:

“I don’t know what hurts more, the dreams or the waking hours when I see you and you aren’t, you don’t feel,” Steve’s words catch again, and he shakes his head into Eddie’s hold, breathes as Eddie strokes his cheek and holds him, just holds him until he can say the rest:

“Losing you like that is worse, but it’s not real,” Steve swallows hard, keeps his eyes clenched shut tight like that’s the only way he can manage to keep going; “losing you like this is better, because you’re still,” and Steve’s fingers find the pulse at his wrist again—because somewhere, it’s still beating:

“But then, it’s the truth, and,” Steve’s voice cracks and god, this man, this beautiful man…

“It just hurts,” Steve says “so goddam much and—”

“That’s not the truth.”

Eddie can’t keep waiting, just to let Steve keep circling this horrific pit of agony, for all the things they both misunderstood, for all the hurting they’ve both breathed through too long.

No more. Steve blinks up at him, and…yeah.

Eddie’s turn, now.

“I am yours,” Eddie pledges like his whole life’s behind it, and in truth: it is. It absolutely is.

“And I feel so fucking much Stevie-baby,” Eddie whispers, because there’s something profound in it, and there’s something magical and beautiful and sacred inside all Eddie feels so much of, and it needs to be revered accordingly as he traces Steve’s cheekbone, the bow of his lips with nothing less than worship. “I didn’t think people were built to love like this. I’ve never seen it. I didn’t know it was a thing to feel at all until now.”

He means it. Steve’s gaping at him a little, marveling a little even, maybe, but it’s not an unbelievable thing. Because this is Eddie Munson’s heart. For Steve Harrington.

This is the only thing.

“And I am sorry,” Eddie exhales all that he has in him to give to an apology because he is sorry, he thinks that sorrymight be seeping out his pores: whatever he did to cause this, whatever extent of a part he played, as much as he never wished or planned to.

He’s fucking sorry.

“I didn’t leave, I just,” he tries to explain, tries to prove somehow that no matter how fucked it all came out to be, he could never leave his Stevie.

“I didn’t leave you, not at all like you’re thinking,” he kisses Steve’s temple, and then draws him close to speak into his skin, like he can press it deep enough for Steve to know without a shred of doubt as he strokes Steve’s hair, tangles his fingers and holds him dear, breathes him in.

“I thought maybe you needed space, but I should have asked,” Eddie laments with a waver in his voice, eyes watering because fuck, fuck:

“I wanted to be what you needed so bad I hurt you on the way,” and isn’t that the fucking kicker? Isn’t that the gut punch, the unbearable truth at the core.

“Then I stayed away, because all signs pointed to it being me,” Eddie murmured into the crown of Steve’s head; “but that was just because I’m scared, because loving you this much is bigger than I can hold sometimes,” and he makes himself pull back so he can meet Steve’s eyes, red-rimmed to match Eddie’s where they’re actively streaming now as he breathes out the truth of his deepest, truest fucking soul:

“You’re the best thing I could ever ask for and I,” and he bends his forehead to Steve’s, breathes there for a handful of beats:

“I didn’t want to push you, and ruin it,” he confesses as the weakness that drove him to cause so much suffering, in only hoping to help. “I didn’t want to lose you, because I’m selfish, and having you taught me a whole new level of what made breathing worthwhile,” and he brings Steve’s hands both to his chest now, presses them tight to the shaky rise and fall, the tremorous hammering underneath as he speaks clear the only truth he really knows:

“Heart and soul I love you, Steve.”

And Steve’s hand on his chest clenches, and Steve’s breathing stumbles, and Eddie loves him.

So goddamn much.

“I didn’t mean to leave you, I would never mean to,” Eddie tells him, shaky and watery with the tears that are still falling; “I thought I was doing what was right,” he huffs, because, nice fucking work on that one, Munson, definitely bet on the winning goddamn horse there, Jesus Christ.

“I never, ever wanted to hurt you, I could never want to hurt you, I’d rather cut my own arm off, my own heart out,” and he turns his head the slightest bit, so he can find skin to kiss how much he means this into:

“I am so fucking sorry.”

Steve chases his mouth and Eddie leans, keeps himself pressed up close to speak straight against him as he gathers Steve’s hands at his chest a little tighter, tries to convey everything he might do with his eyes with the rest of his body now, with the way his voice floods with the heart of him whole:

“Could you ever,” he stammers a little, because he…he doesn’t want to face what it means if the answer to what he’s about to ask is set to break him apart all over again.

But he loves this man, and now that he has what could be a chance—Steve can’t be leaning into his touch, can’t be telling him all of this started because it hurts too much to lose Eddie, with there being no possible chance—but Eddie might have a chance to have Steve back, to keep Steve for always.

Like fuck he’s gonna be a coward at risk losing this again.

“Could you, y’know, like, ever think about giving me a chance to make up for it?” Eddie’s voice is so small, but so earnest, because he will do anything. “To fix it, and prove I’ll never hurt you again if I can help it,” and he will, he will do whatever it takes to prove what his heart and soul knows through to the bottom, bright inside his bones:

“Fuck, I’d break myself in half before I hurt you again, baby,” he promises, vows deeper than anything—

“I don’t want that.”

Steve blinks at him, eyes fucking intense, and Eddie stills, his heart plummeting because…well, of course it was possible, and of course Eddie understands, he hurt Steve in a way he doesn’t know if he can wholly forgive himself for, in a way that’s maybe worse for how Eddie’d tried for anything but, such a gross misstep and he—

“I don’t want you broken,” Steve reaches, flips his palm from atop Eddie’s heavy thumping heart and grasps, brings Eddie’s hand to his lips and kisses there, pinning Eddie with his gaze through his lashes:

“Not ever, not for anything,” Steve says it heavy, emphasizes each word with intention: “never for me.”

“You’re the only thing that’s worth it,” Eddie counters, just as firm, just as committed to that truth with his whole goddamn chest: “worth anything.”

Worth everything; and Eddie thinks Steve hears that too; hears it all.

And it’s Steve who’s reaching, now, who’s framing Eddie’s face and pulling him in and Eddie sinks into it, falls into the way that Steve moves him, takes control in those subtle, automatic ways and fuck if Eddie didn’t quite realize just how much he missed this part, the way that Steve commanded the moment and tipped his chin just so to kiss deeper, to draw moans from spaces inside Eddie that he didn’t even know he possessed: electric.

In-fucking-toxicating.

“Come home?” Steve asks-but-tells him soft, earnest; “what I do want, is for you to come home.”

And fuck if Eddie wants anything else in the world; fuck if that isn’t everything.

Home. With his Stevie.

He chokes on a fucking sob and he wraps around Steve so goddamn tight.

“Thank you,” Eddie presses lips to his jaw, peppers kisses up to his temple, across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, worshipful and dazed, so viscerally relieved, like a noose he didn’t know was tightening around his neck was suddenly torn free and he can breathe, he can breathe, he’s still got the best fucking reason to breathe.

“Thank you,” he mouths at Steve’s lips as he makes his way down his chin to his neck to worship that space with this gratitude, his devotion as he swears deeper than he’s ever even considered committing to anything:

“Promise you won’t regret it.”

“I don’t regret it,” Steve shakes his head like the idea’s anathema; “maybe it was hard, some of it, and maybe it was getting harder, worse than I could keep a handle on, but without you,” and Steve’s voice breaks a little, and he shakes his head harder, more like he’s trying to get rid of a nightmare, his eyes glassy when he looks back up:

“Without you is so much worse, Eds.”

And Eddie’s heart jumps because he’s not okay with that hurting.

But also because Steve…Steve’s saying outright, after all of this, that with Eddie is a better way to be.

Fucking sue him if that hits him just so, okay?

“I’m sorry I made you feel like I could ever want a life without you in it,” Steve whispers into his temple, teasing his hairline. “Fucking unthinkable, baby.”

And Eddie shivers, because…he’d hoped this could be where they’d end up, but he…he was scared. So scared that he’d lost it, that there was no coming back.

“God, I missed you,” Eddie breathes, shaky as fuck, wet on the edges at best; “every second of the fucking day.”

“Me too,” Steve meets him, a little sniffly in his own right; “so much, Eddie. So much.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again, wobbly, because he is, he fucking is—

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Steve chides him with a peck at the bow of his lips; “I believe you, that you thought it was the right thing.”

“Because it meant making you happy, not for me,” Eddie needs to he sure Steve knows that part, knows it in his fucking bones. “I would never leave you because I wanted to,” Eddie whispers, kinda fucking horrified at just the idea; “nothing could make me want that.”

He cups Steve cheek and lets Steve lean into how it fits just so before he murmurs low, still shaky:

“Barely even survived it,” because fuck, now that it’s over, Eddie can appreciate how much it took from him, being away from Steve, and when he couldn’t even see why. “You’re the sun, Stevie.”

And fuck, if that’s not the truth. He is the center of the galaxy. He is all life in the universe.

Everything.

“Steve,” Eddie finally disturbs the sweet bubble of yes, right, this is right that they’re holding between them, and only because he…

He can’t risk this. Ever again. And he’s not foolish enough to think this thing’s fixed, that it’s one and done. But Eddie, and his devotion to Steve, and his love: that’s not ever going to be done.

Loving Steve is not something he is fucking ever going to be done doing. Done drowning in gratitude for the goddamn privilege of.

“I need you to promise me you’re never going to keep this, anything that hurts like this, locked up ever again, okay?” he runs his thumbs along the crests of Steve’s cheekbones. “I am here with you, I want to be here for everything, all of it, always,” and he kisses just between Steve’s brows, holds there for a few moments before he leans back and lifts Steve’s chin on his fingertips to look him straight in the eyes, see down to his soul entire:

“I’m never not going to want to help, to try and make the hurting go away, or at least find a way to help make it easier to bear,” and he means it, and he holds Steve’s gaze firm until he can see the conviction in his own veins start to color Steve’s irises brighter, to be taken in and believed.

“You could tell me to fuck off forever,” he tucks his cheek along Steve’s, burrows a little on the crook of his neck to breathe in the scent of him, to feel his blood move under the surface; “like…leaving you alone this time was a bridge too far, go to fucking hell Munson. You could come to me in twenty fucking years and I’d still drop everything just to make you hurt less.”

And Steve cranes his neck, opens up that space for him and lets Eddie fit there closer and just breathe, breathe, breathe, tucks Eddie under his chin like the tables are turned and…maybe they are. Or else: no, not maybe. They both were hurting. And they both love too much to let any of that hurt be anything but tended to, but dressed and cleaned and soothed, now that they have each other in arm’s-reach. Now that they can press each other close and hold and be, and remember all over again what life feels like where it sings in one body held tight to another, when it’s loved this full.

Steve keeps him there, lets him get his bearings, before Eddie inhales extra deep so he’s got Steve in his lungs when he makes himself pull back; gathers Steve to him again, now, and it’s…it’s just as much a comfort. It doesn’t matter who’s in whose arms. So long as they’re here.

So long as they’re them

“This is,” and Eddie makes damn sure that his hands are on Steve and nowhere else, that he’s holding onto Steve, that his fingers are locked with Steve’s, that he’s entangled to the point where it’d hurt to get out but he’s never going to try so it’s irrelevant. He needs Steve to know, and never question that Eddie’s never going anywhere.

“All this, is heavy, Stevie,” and he’s got his lips pressed to Steve’s hair before Steve can even finish how he makes to tense up; “and it breaks my heart that you’ve been carrying it all on your own.”

And Eddie holds there, holds and keeps Steve so close, until the other man slumps a little, until he gives that little bit of tension and then some back into Eddie, and it feels…it feels like how Eddie imagines someone feels when they exchange vows at the altar, or else, how they want to, how it’s talked about. Because there’s nothing present in this moment save sheer fucking trust, and the willingness to give between two bodies, two souls.

Eddie can’t help but pull him a little closer, duck down to trail his mouth down Steve’s forehead, his cheekbones, the apples of his cheeks, just: show him how much he feels. How much he feels lucky that Steve’s leaning into him, that Steve’s giving him this; this…opportunity to hold him up, too.

The fucking gift of it. Of him.

“So strong, my sweetheart,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s lips, then; “so brave,” and it kinda fucking floors him, really it does, that this man is…all that he is. Fucking superhuman, sometimes, good fucking god.

“But I love you, and that means you never have to shoulder anything alone ever again,” Eddie moves to kiss Steve straight on, properly, and then he lets Steve deepen it as far as he wants: and shit, he wants.

And Eddie cannot put into words what it means to have this again. To have his Steve in his arms, to have him want to be there, to let go in Eddie’s embrace.

“Never alone, baby,” Eddie nips his lower lip when they break apart, gasping; “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, clear eyed and red-swollen lipped and fuck, he’s exquisite.

“I can’t take back what happened, with Vecna, the first time, or anything before or since,” Eddie needs, all of a sudden, to bare a little more of his heart, to make sure Steve knows all the little crevices of him, so he’ll never fill the gaps in with anything but the unfettered love that’s meant to be there, that lives there always and creates the shape of what Eddie holds in his chest.

“I can’t erase the fuel for your nightmares, and I hate that,” Eddie moans, and Steve’s the one who leans in for his lips this time, who kisses Eddie so fucking thoroughly he feels lighter, he thinks, for the pieces of him blissfully surrendered up on how their mouths meet.

Eddie decidedly does not hate that.

“I do want to die in your arms,” and Eddie’s a little dizzy as he says it, giddy and buoyant with how his heart flutters and maybe another time he’d think twice before being this candid, but not anymore. Not flooded with relief and joy and gratefulness like this, and faced with the real possibility of the future he aches for:

“When we’re old and grey and wrinkled and still so fucking in love that we’re rewriting what it means to feel,” Eddie rips open the whole of his lovedunk heart for Steve to see and hear and know, and maybe even embrace for all the hopeless romance Eddie’s finding real hope for holding in Steve and Steve alone; “making new rules and setting new standards for everyone who comes after us, for how deep and much and well we loved.”

Eddie’s never seen Steve’s eyes shine like they do when he looks up and locks their gazes, takes all that Eddie’s giving, showing: he’s not just witnessing it.

He’s embracing it. He’s fucking eager like Eddie is, and how could Eddie be this lucky, to be welcomed, to be forgiven, to be understood, to be given the chance to earn this for keeps, to hold Steve close and safe to his chest for fucking ever.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, for trying to do it ahead of schedule down there,” Eddie murmurs at the corner of Steve’s mouth, just…just kinda to be close, to feel his breaths as they come; “and then thinking I knew what you needed and fucking it up, here,” and he makes himself draw back, then, to hold Steve’s chin and look him square on, because he needs Steve to see, he needs to hear and know, just, like, one more time, in case it’s the one that sticks strongest, most lasting:

“I never meant to hurt you,” he doesn’t let himself drown in those eyes just now, needs to tether in them and weave himself in the thick glow of them, the way the caramel color swims; “never want to hurt you,” and he lifts his touch to run his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, no tears to wipe but he feels…he feels a need to touch there, delicate, reverent:

“Never want you to hurt.”

“I know,” and Steve wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, holds tight; “I know, babe, thank you,” and Eddie is going to make sure he doesn’t overlook any of this ever again: Steve failing to understand how deep Eddie’s feelings run, how much he means to Eddie, how Eddie’s heart couldn’t even beat right without him, for how much of it’s made up of Steve.

He’s going to make sure Steve knows that the only thanks necessary in what they share is the all-encompassing gratitude. Is just being thankful, for the fact of a love unprecedented.

“Maybe I could,” Eddie throws off the first thing that comes to mind to face how they got here head-on, and maybe he riffs out loud a little, goes with the pull at the base of his heart and leaps, tries to chart the right course to make sure he does get to die in Steve’s arms one day, where they both take their last breaths in the same second and their hearts go to whatever’s next—something other or something quiet, something next or something final—together, always together, never-not-together, ever again:

“Maybe I could hold you tight to me, like, every night, all the time, and now that I know what’s happening here,” he taps Steve’s head lovingly, rests fingertips at the side of Steve’s neck to touch at the pulse as he offers, kinda fucking clumsy, and hopes like hell the depth makes up for it; “then I can be ready to catch you.”

And Steve pulls back, just looks at him, and he feels so dismantled in the best of ways, like being unraveled when the knots holding you up were too tight anyway and then it’s just pure release, and when he sees the soft little hint of a smile on Steve’s lips, blinding in his eyes—it’s everything as Eddie promises from his goddamn cells:

“I will always catch you, Steve.”

And Steve, he just sighs, and falls into Eddie once more—again, the gift of that kind of trust, Eddie will never get over it, or take it for granted—but Steve just falls and burrows into Eddie’s chest, settles at the center and Eddie would put fucking money on the fact that his heart swells to meets that weight, that presence of Steve; that every part of him just knows who’s there to listen and feel. That his beating fucking heart wants, because of how much Eddie wants. How much Eddie knows this man means.

“Maybe we could get a really big shirt,” Eddie muses as he stokes up and down Steve’s spine, spread over Eddie’s whole chest as he is; “and stretch out the neck so we can both fit, then when you wake up and you think,” Eddie pauses, doesn’t want to put those things into words to live in the world any more than they’ve already been forced there.

“But then you’re pressed as close as you can be, and you can feel the truth, and I can hold you until you believe what you feel,” he doesn’t know if that makes sense at all, but Steve’s breaths are damp and warm over the barest ends of the scars that stretched a little farther toward the center of his chest and…fucking hell.

That’s just a heady fucking feeling, y’know? And all Eddie wants is to keep.

“Like, maybe we could try it?”

He’ll try, more than try, just about anything.

“What if I—” and Eddie doesn’t need Steve to finish that thought, he can read the fear, the worry, the resignation that he’ll somehow have some reaction that being held tight to Eddie will make unbearable, maybe even dangerous given just how wide those eyes go.

Eddie’s not gonna let that shit stand anymore. Not ever a-fucking-gain.

“There’s nothing you could possibly do that I’m not ready and willing to catch, and hold so close, and keep so safe. Remember?” He tips Steve’s chin up so he can look at him, drink him in entirely and hold him there until he can read that he’s heard and understood through and through when he vows with his everything:

“Always gonna catch you.”

And Steve’s hands come to Eddie, now, and he writes the moment again, takes control of the momentum in between them and grabs Eddie’s face, draws him into the kind of kiss that lights up his nerves neon bright and sparkling, shimmers through him like pure fucking magic:

“I love you,” Steve breathes in between Eddie’s lips, then goes to pressing that feeling all over, drawing the dopiest grin to Eddie’s whole fucking face:

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” then he braces his palms on Eddie hips, and honestly, Eddie had apparently floated a little bit into the here and now because he hadn’t even wholly processed Steve straddling him until he’s gazing down at him with so much fucking affection:

“Thank you,” and the serious tone he says it in is somehow made, like, twenty-dimensional and all the more significant; “for coming back.”

And Eddie…Eddie doesn’t really understand how that’s something to be thanked for when coming back feels like putting his heart back together again, but: fine.

He can meet the sentiment.

“Thank you, for letting me,” Eddie leans in, kisses Steve’s still-a-little-swollen lips; “for wanting me.”

“I want you forever,” Steve answers, solemn and sure and without hesitation. “I want you,” then he smiles, because maybe they’re a little fucked up to find joy in this sentiment but fuck if it’s anything but the best possible thing Eddie could imagine:

“’Til the day we die.”

“Swear it, sweetheart,” and Eddie isn’t even going to try and deny, or reshape the fact that he’s just gazing at Steve, now, fucking marveling because how can he not?

Why would he do anything but wonder at the goddamn miracle in front of him, perched atop top him, nestled in his chest and safe inside his heart: why the fuck would he do anything else, anything less?

“Stevie, baby,” he exhales a little shaky, leaning into just, just…kiss all of it into Steve’s soul:

“I fuckin’ swear it.”

❄️

✨ also on ao3🖤❤️

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here and here

[pitchsidestories]

After Midnight II Sydney Lohmann x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1377

summary: Sydney wants to confess her love to reader as the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve. requested

author's note: thank you, anon for sending us the request, enjoy. ❤️❤️

The New Year’s Eve party was well underway in the picturesque old flat which offered a wonderful view of Munich. Dance music was blasting from the speakers. 

The balloons with 2025 printed on them were either on the floor or the ceiling.

Laura Freigang had set up a little photobooth in the corner of the living room where the guests could take photos with a Polaroid camera. 

“Tonight, I’ll tell her.”, Sydney Lohmann thought.

The Bayern Munich footballer only realised that she had said it out loud when the Frankfurt player replied to her sentence. An unconvinced laugh left the forward’s lips: “Sure, Syd.”

Her doubtful reaction only made it clearer to Sydney that tonight was about telling you about her feelings for you or keeping quiet about them forever.

“What? You don’t believe me?”, she asked the German national teammate.

With an amused twinkle in her blue eyes, Laura shook her head: “You’ve been saying that for months.”

Each of the Bayern Munich players who attended the New Year’s Eve party had an opinion on Sydney’s crush. The crush which was you was the only guest who hasn’t arrived yet.

“Literally. It got to the point that it was annoying.”, Klara teased her.

In a jokingly tone, Georgia added: “And that’s coming from Klara herself.”

“Excuse me? So rude. Maybe I should consider joining Barcelona in the summer.”, she pouted.

“No, you won’t do that.”, Sydney observed smiling.

Excitedly, the Scottish Sam Kerr intervened: “Girls, Syd’s crush is coming!”

“Perfect time, we can finally continue drinking.”, the English midfielder remarked in good spirits.

“I’ll get us a new round.”, Laura announced cheerfully.

You entered the room slightly ashamed, knowing full well that you were the last to arrive, even though it wasn't your fault. While you apologized your cheeks turned hot: “I’m so sorry, I know ‘m late, you can blame the MVG for that, but at least I got the dessert to make up for it.”

“Oh, no problem”, Sydney waved it off before helping you take off your winter coat and revealing your New Year's Eve outfit underneath.

The fellow football player admired the view, then she cleared her throat awkwardly: “Just glad you’re here.”

Her truthfulness caught you off guard, so the next words tended to stumble out of your mouth.: “ Me too. What I mean is.. I’m glad to be here with all of you.”

“Uhm, would you like a drink?”, Syndey offered, licking her lips nervously.

“Yes, please.”, you agreed.

With a silent nod she turned towards Laura who was in charge of the drinks that night: “Lau, can you make her one too?”

“Of course!”, the Frankfurt player replied happily, getting up to start mixing another drink.

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, she came over to you with your finished drink. As Laura handed you the glass, she winked and whispered: “Do everything I would do too.”

“That’s horrible advice.“, Sydney chuckled.

“Honestly.“, you agreed, taking a sip of the sweet drink to hide the blood rushing into your cheeks.

Sydney shook her head with a dismissive hand gesture: “Ignore her, she already had a few drinks.”

You watched as Laura retreated and sat back down with Klara and the other Bayern players: “Laura sounded pretty sober to me. How are you?”

The midfielder seemed to be surprised by your question, her eyes widened slightly and she blinked a few times: “I’m fine. Why?”

“You look a bit nervous. Don’t you like fireworks? Klara said we can do some sparklers later…”

“I’m not nervous, I’m totally fine.”, she said but she started to look even more horrified at your assumptions which made it hard to believe her.

“Okay.”

“Anyone wants some snacks?”, she suddenly changed the topic and your heart dropped at an instant, hoping you didn’t offend her.

“I do!”, Klara yelled from the other side of the room.

You watched quietly as Sydney disappeared into kitchen, followed by a concerned looking Laura.

While Sydney plated some pre-made snacks on a tray, Laura watched her with her arms crossed in front of her chest: “The operation Truth isn’t going too well so far, right?”

“I can’t do it right now, that would be weird.”, Sydney replied with her back to her German teammate.

“Weird? Why? For how much longer do you want to wait, Syd? Forever or until midnight?”

“Laura!”

“You know it’s true.”

Finally, the Bayern midfielder turned around and sighed: “I will tell her at midnight, don’t worry.”

Laura gave one satisfied nod, her facial features relaxing: “Good.”

“Here, take those snacks outside.”, Sydney said and put the tray into the Frankfurt players hands.

“Okay, but it’s getting closer to midnight.”, Laura reminded her.

One more frustrated sigh from Sydney made clear that she didn’t want to talk about it: “Laura, I got it all under control.”

That was the only thing you heard from their conversation.

“Under control? Kitchen emergency?”, you grinned as you walked in.

Sydney quickly shook her head: “No, all good. Would you like Laura to make you another drink?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”, you assured her.

The midfielder sighed relived: “Okay, great.”

“But can we talk?”, you asked her, nervously playing with a strand of hair and waiting for her answer.  

She looked at you, taken by surprise: “Now?”

“I guess it has time until after the countdown.”, you bit your lip.

“Are you sure?”, Sydney raised an eyebrow at you.

“You tell me.”, you replied and passed the ball back to her.

“Okay, let’s talk about it in the new year.”, the blonde decided and ran a hand through her loose hair.

Suddenly you heard yourself speaking your inner thoughts out loud :”Do you think it’s better to be quiet than to speak up?”

 “What do you mean?”, she frowned in confusion.

You shrugged your shoulders, slightly frustrated: “Doesn’t matter, let’s join the others on the balcony.”

To your great surprise, Sydney held on to your upper arm with her hand so that you couldn't go on to the other women, who could hardly wait for it to be 2025 and for them all to start a new chapter in their lives.

“Why are you being so secretive tonight?”, she wanted to know from you alarmed.

You glance calmly into her blue eyes: “I’m not, you’re so weird tonight too.”

“I’m not weird.”, the midfielder huffed.

Your heart sank as you questioned: “When what is it what you’re not telling me?”

“Who said I do?”, Sydney returned the question.

There was a touch of helplessness in your voice while your friends counted down the minutes until it was midnight in the background: “Syd..”

“Fine. I like you, y/n. I really like you.”, she admitted.

You gently framed her face with your hands and confessed: “Sydney, I like you the same way.”

“Wait, you do?”, the light-haired woman mumbled in astonishment.

Your mouth felt dry once you confirmed: “Yes.”

“You mean, not just like friends.”, Sydney pressed on.

“More like lovers.”, you clarified, your heart pondering hard against your chest.

The blonde sheepishly smiled at you: “Can I kiss you?”

A nod of the head was enough to make her do exactly what she had asked. The lights of the fireworks outside and the one inside you caused by the kiss rang in the new year.

“Happy New Year.”, you heard Georgia yelling.

The two of you were in your own world. “Y/n, Happy New Year.”, Sydney whispered into your ear, giving you chills all over your body before kissing you again.

“Oh my God, Klara, get the champagne out”’, Laura first spotted you two, her voice filled with excitement. 

A loud laughter escaped the younger forward’s lips: “Laura, the champagne is already out.”

“Yes, but now we’ve to celebrate Sydney’s confession.”, the Frankfurt player explained smirking.

Sydney tried to sound nonchalantly:” Girls, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, please ignore us so we can go back to kissing.”, you added with a mischievous smile.

Klara observed delighted about what just has happened: “Great start into the New Year.”

“We agree.”, Sydney and you said at the same time, each of you erupting into a warm laughter as the sparklers were lit mirroring the lightness you felt when your lips touched hers.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/glimmerofawesome/691962444197855232?source=share

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello!

What about an avengers reader and bucky fic where reader dosnt realize they are in an depressive episode but bucky or steve or both ( platonically or romantically) notices.

Haha I just surfaced from a major depressive episode so that's where the inspiration came from.

Also hi!

Hi <3 this one is a little longer because, well I guess I needed it too. Plus fluffy lovey Stucky is my bread and butter. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky barnes x reader, Stucky (but not really the focus)

Content/Warnings: mental health, depression, anxiety, self care

Author Note: as someone who also struggles with mental health I personally loved this ask. Thank you, and I hope your feeling better sweets. Take care. 

(Bonus note from my editor @voice-of-velhart)

Editor Note: Depression is not an easy thing to make your way out of, but I'm proud of ya'll for pushing through it and I'm glad your here. <3

The brain fog was the thing that set in first. It was hard to fall out of a routine living in the compound. Day in and Day out it was training and meal regimens. Sparring and paperwork. Someone was always around and yet you felt like you were drifting. Going through the motions with little to no reason to do so other than if you didn’t what else would fill your day. No one seemed to notice your lack of enthusiasm, or how your typically attentive nature had been slipping lately. Your reports were still on time and you weren’t pulling your punches in training so you were probably fine… right?

It was burn out or maybe you were feeling under the weather. At least that's what you told them if they asked. And while your friends and team loved you, they were busy people with the literal weight of the world on their shoulders. So who could blame them when they didn’t keep tabs, or at least you thought they didn’t keep tabs. 

Bucky sat in the library trying to find a fantasy book he hadn’t already read. Tony was a brilliant guy but he had horrible taste in written fiction. As he perused, he kept you in his peripheral vision. You stared down at your now cold cup of coffee looking lost even though you weren’t moving. He had noticed you are like this a lot the last few weeks. You shower less and less, your normally shiny maintained hair more often than not on the greasy and dull side of the spectrum. And he hadn’t seen you touch the piano or your switch in days. He was getting concerned. 

He taps Steve with his foot. “What?” 

The big guy had been deep in thought, sprawled out in a lounge chair with his nose in a tablet. “Have you noticed Angel is different lately?” 

Steve glanced up, taking a look at their girl as she swirled the coffee in her mug, totally disassociating. “Yeah, she said she was under the weather. I tried to get it out of her what was wrong but she’s being cagey.” his brows knit together in a mask of concern. “Sure is lingering a long time to be just a bug, don't cha think?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah I do… what are we gonna do about it.” 

Steve sighed heavily and set down his tablet, giving the issue his full attention. He thinks back to those long cold winters in brooklyn. When the snow was deep and his bones would ache so bad he didn’t wanna get out of bed. There were always little things that would help him get out of those slumps. Bucky making him get up and shower was always a good start, followed by warm food and if they could find it, sunlight. 

“I think we're gonna start by helping our girl feel human again..” 

~~~~

Steve and Bucky formed a game plan. The two men are nothing if not efficient and tactical. Steve went down stairs to start food. Something starchy and savory. Comfort food. Meanwhile, Bucky started operation Angel Self Care. 

“Angel.” Bucky's voice was soft, wrapped in warm velvet. And you barely registered it before he was crouching down and smoothing back your hair from your face. Taking your untouched cup out of your hand. “How long have you been sitting here, beautiful?” 

You shook your head as if you could wave away the mist behind your eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Lost track of time I guess.” Bucky just hums. Yeah, he knows that feeling. He also knew it never led anywhere good. 

“Lost in thought?” 

You looked up to meet his gaze, warmth and concern mixing in the set of his jaw and the draw of his brows. “Yeah I guess. I’m fine babe. Don’t worry about it I’m just..”

“Feeling under the weather. Yeah, I know. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I’m starting to think it’s a cop out.”

It is and you know it but you don’t know what else to say. “I just. I don’t know what wrong with me lately. I just… I don’t wanna do anything. Like anything ya know? It’s like sometimes waking up alone is all I have in me for the day. Do you know how that feels.”

If anyone knew how you felt it was Bucky. Hell sometimes he still felt that way, decades of torture and actions out of his own control had left him with more then his own share of depressive tendencies that drag him deep down under the current of reality pretty regularly. There are days he goes completely nonverbal, only going through the motions on autopilot. The only people who can pull him out are Steve, and you. And therapy, lots of therapy. “Of course I do. You know I do. But Angel, you can’t live there. It’s ok to feel it, but you need to acknowledge it and try to crawl back out. It’s ok if you can’t do it alone baby.”

You feel a thick lump forming in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. The urge to argue, to tell him your fine and he’s being overbearing was there. But more then that you knew he was right. Something was wrong, and you couldn’t climb out on your own. But you weren’t ready to say it. Not yet. 

“Come on honey, let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your belly. That might help a little.” Bucky didn’t wait for you to protest, he slid one arm under your legs and the other around your back and headed up to Steve’s quarters. Not caring in the slightest if teammates or recruits saw. That was a problem for later Bucky. 

~~~~

The big six had full apartments in the upper levels of the compound. Which means he could squirrel you away to Steve’s private bath and get you in the shower. Vetiver and pine, a familiar comforting scent. Gently and quietly he started the shower to an acceptable temperature for you (hot enough to turn your skin the next shade of blush.) and stripped you down to help you in. 

There was nothing sexual about the way he did this. It was all just about loving you. Helping you, as  he guided you into the water and let it wash away your stress. He pulled you back against his chest. “There’s my girl. That feel better Angel?” 

You nod as the smell of Steve’s body wash fills the small space. “Do you mind if I wash you?” 

With your permission he sets about cleaning you up. Slow loving strokes over your body as he pulls you back to lean on his chest. “You know you can talk to us about anything right. Steve and I love you. You’ve been here for us. Let us do the same.” 

“I would tell you… if I knew why I felt this way.” You confess. “If I had some inkling of what I needed to get out to feel better but I don’t.” 

Your voice wavers and it breaks Bucky's heart just a little. He wants to fix it. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there for you. “Well, I’m glad you trust me enough to help you.” He tilts your head back. Starting to wash your hair. “We’ll just take it one step at a time till we find ground again. Ok?

~~~~ 

Downstairs Steve fretted over the stove. Sweet potato pierogi and with onions and butter. It was easy, simple even. But it always made him feel better as a kid and the few times he had made it you liked it. He looked up as he heard feet pad down into the kitchen. Hair still damp, but clean. In fresh sweats and Bucky's shirt. 

“Ahh, there you are. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah… a little.” You admit, sitting on a stool across the island. 

Steve rounds the counter to kiss your forehead. “You look better.” He inhaled her skin, the longer scent of his soap and Bucky's touch still there, along with that sweet undertone that was all you. “Smell better too.” He teased. 

You breath out your nose with a half hearted huff. “Thanks.” 

“Always angel. Here. I made you some food. You don’t have to eat it all but at least a few bites would ease my mind. And then maybe we can go up to the room and get you some sun hmm? Would you be ok with that.” Steve slid the colorful pasta across the counter to you with a warm smile. Trying to coax you to follow his lead. 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You eat mostly in silence. Steve and Bucky don’t push you to talk as you fill your stomach. You know they're worried. But even just these small gestures are helping you feel like maybe there is an end to this malaise. You see Steve smile and kiss Bucky softly in thanks as they wait for you to tell them you're ready. 

They spend the rest of the day trying to get you some sun. Fresh air and movement. 

“We’re gonna do this a little everyday till you start feeling better. And if you need it or feel up to it we can look into talking to a therapist too.” Steve assures. His hand firmly laced through your own. “You are not alone in this. We all feel this way sometimes. But I’m proud of you for trying love.”

A flicker of hope flies in your chest at his words. You aren’t alone, this isn’t forever. And your men are gonna love you through it till you can do it on you own.

[watcher7-9]

HSR men with Christmas: Headcanons

Note: Merry late Christmas 😓 this is gonna be the Christmas special ><

Featuring: Sunday, Dr.Ratio, Danheng, and Jiaoqiu

Sunday:

-Was indeed a child that believed and celebrated the holidays to the max. Decorations were seen everywhere and took pride in his work as he hung up the lights and tried to fly to put the star at the top of the tree. When he was young he tried to make a trap to catch Santa but fell asleep half way through. Kept on trying to pinch his wings to keep himself awake.

-His face will heat up when he finds you two conveniently under a mistletoe did it on purpose. When you two finally kiss his wings will flutter as he cups your cheeks in his hands, keeping you from pulling away. His wings make a little protective wall so that others won’t see.

-Definitely that one friend that hosts most of the Christmas parties and starts to stress it the first day of December. Has a checklist of everything he has to plan and do for the party. Even if he’s not hosting he’s usually one to bring food over or coming early to help with preparations.

Dr. Ratio:

-He knew at a young age that Santa wasn’t real so he would always argue with the little kids which led to him getting a talking to by the adults. But he does get why the holiday is celebrated and indulges in the traditions.

-Wraps the best Christmas presents and get irritated at other people’s wrapping skills. When the holiday is approaching and after buying gifts he’ll set up a small station on a table. Wrapping paper, tape, and rulers of all sorts. Measuring and cutting the perfect length before folding the corners precisely. If your also there he’ll offer tips or he’ll just do it himself of how much the corners irritate him.

-You had convinced him to go build a snowman with you outside. He even made a plan for you: how big the snowman will be, the decorations but in the end you had made him put all of the planning aside and to freehand it. In the end the snowman did look a little unpatched on the sides, the carrot was a little off…but this time he didn’t mind. Maybe it’s because he built it with you.

Danheng:

-During this time of the year the Express is always bustling. Pom Pom is hanging up the decorations around the train and had asked the members to help out. He was usually on light duty because he could reach the highest and didn’t have the heart to let poor Welt hurt his back. Though he usually looks timid to say the least the holidays does bring joy to him. Everyone’s so happy especially you, how could he not be happy.

-During March’s photo shoots he was always the reindeer. Reindeer ears and a brownish outfit as March set up her camera for the family photo. Told you to hush when you teased him about it, though you could see a red tint on his face if you looked close enough.

-One of the pros during the winter time is that every time you guys are done playing in the snow he’ll have an excuse to cuddle up with you when you guys get back. Saying that your hands are too cold he’ll hold them tightly in his or worrying that your shivering when your not. Cuddling you as his tail wraps around your waist tightly.

Jiaoqiu:

-Loves making new foods to try out every time winter rolls around. Winter time is the best time to eat spicy food. Making youtry out new nutritional dishes he cooks up and revises his works to perfection. Seeing you so happy to eat his food makes him very prideful of his work.

-Always the one to fret about the cold. Telling you to wear warmer layers and that you’re gonna get sick. He isn’t one to enjoy the cold that much and he rather stay inside the comfort of his own home especially after he got blind. When you come back inside he’ll get you bundled up with a warm cup of tea and a thick blanket around you after you took off your soaked clothes. Sometimes you’ll sneak attack his tail with your cold hand which will make him jump.

-Huge board game player. A stack of different games on the side as you two gather around the table. The fire crackling in the background, snacks and drink, and a movie as background noise. The Game of Life, UNO, Jenga. Anything that seems exciting he’ll play with you. But most of the time it’s usually him winning.

[steddie-island]

Plenty Implied

Written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiebingo Song: Baby, It's Cold Outside Prompts: Under the influence (R1), winter (R1 and 12 days of Christmas) Rating: E | WC: 2,343 | Tags: Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, getting together, first kiss, snowed in For full list of tags see ao3 | Divider credit

This wasn't how Steve had expected his night to go. He'd expected the blind date his mother had set him up on to suck (it had). He'd expected there to be a kerfuffle over the bill, no matter which of them paid (his date had). He'd expected the night to end with him and Robin cuddled on the couch, eating cookies and ice cream while they talked about how bad his mother's taste in dates for him was.

The getting home part was where everything had gone wonky. Even if he hadn't locked the keys in his car, the snow had piled up so fast that he wouldn't have been able to make it out of the parking lot.

Maybe if he'd left at the same time as his date then he would've been able to get out. But he hadn't, he'd stayed behind and finished the wine he'd ordered while watching the Alpha behind the bar.

Now here he was, sitting in the corner of said Alpha's couch while Eddie puttered around the kitchen. He hadn't yet decided whether Eddie living above the restaurant was good luck or not. It would depend on if Steve's mother found out he'd started the evening with one Alpha and ended it with another.

"Marshmallows or no marshmallows?"

Eddie's voice pulled Steve back to the moment. "Marshmallows," he said, looking towards the kitchen.

When Eddie joined him again he was holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream, marshmallows, and… chocolate shavings? As if the cocoa wasn't surprising enough, it was brought out in matching Garfield mugs.

"I sort of thought you were joking about making cocoa." Steve took his mug and held it close. The warm scent of chocolate and cinnamon wrapped around him. It mixed surprisingly well with the scent of Eddie — tobacco and leather.

"Stevie. I would never joke about hot cocoa." Eddie didn't sit down beside him right away and instead crossed to a table pushed against the wall. Steve watched nimble fingers flip through the vinyls until he'd found what he wanted.

"…Really?" Steve laughed as the voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the room. "Isn't this a little on the nose?"

"Maybe that's why I picked it." Eddie grinned as he took his seat. "Did you get ahold of your friend?" He gestured to the cordless he'd given Steve before stepping into the kitchen.

"No. She didn't answer, I figured I would try again in a few minutes." Steve flicked his tongue out to try and clear a spot for himself to drink out of through the whipped cream. Rich chocolate flavor exploded on his tongue, followed by the subtle burn of alcohol.

"I think Ella was on to something, there's definitely more than chocolate in this," he teased.

Eddie's rumbling laugh made Steve shiver. "I just figured it would help warm you up," he said. His nose wrinkled in a way that made Steve want to lean in and kiss the tip of it. "…Was that creepy? I can make you some without, I just remembered you having wine earlier, didn't think it would hurt—"

"You were watching me?" Steve asked.

"I didn't say that." Eddie arched one brow as he took a long drink. He licked the whipped cream mustache away before Steve could offer to do it. "But yeah, I was. It's always fun to be an innocent bystander for the trainwreck dates."

"Trainwreck!" Steve barked out in a laugh. "You could not tell it was a trainwreck from all the way over by the bar."

"Trust me, you work with people as long as I have, you learn to pick up on things." Eddie settled in against the couch with one arm stretched out along the back of it. "If that's what you count as a good date, I would hate to see what counts as bad."

Steve settled back, too, with his hands around his mug and his body facing Eddie's. "It wasn't the worst date I've ever had. Just… awkward."

"What is the worst date you've ever had?"

Another laugh bubbled up as Steve drained half of his mug. "It'll take more than one mug of hard cocoa to get that out of me."

"You're not serious." Eddie watched Steve with wide eyes.

"I fucking wish I was joking!"

It had taken more than one hard cocoa, but just barely. Steve had managed to get through to Robin (who, to her credit, only panicked a little at the idea of Steve being with a guy neither of them knew, and she only demanded his full name, address, a physical description, and his license plate number in case Steve didn't show up again once the weather had cleared up). Once the cocoa was gone and Robin knew Steve was somewhere safe for the night, they had switched to a bottle of bourbon Eddie had brought home from work.

There was something about Eddie that Steve found comforting in a way he hadn't found with anyone but Robin in a very long time. Maybe it was because Eddie hadn't even blinked when Robin had demanded to speak to him, too. Maybe it was because he looked tough and rugged, with his ripped jeans and his motorcycle boots and the tattoos covering his arms, but he had at least two Garfield mugs in his kitchen and he listened to Ella Fitzgerald on snowy nights.

Eddie's laugh was big and bright and Steve found that he wanted to wrap himself up in it because it warmed him even more than their drinks had. He was just warm, and Steve found himself slowly gravitating closer and closer to Eddie's end of the couch.

If Robin was here, she would be telling him that he needed to be careful. He fell too hard too fast and he always got hurt for it. This night, though, Eddie, it all felt different. This wasn't even a date, Eddie had just been nice enough to offer Steve somewhere to warm himself up for the night.

Now Steve wanted to offer Eddie somewhere warm, too.

It was a stupid line brought on by a horny thought, and Steve nearly spat out his drink.

"You good, man?" Eddie asked as he reached over to lightly clap Steve on the back. His scent was even stronger when he was this close.

"I'm good." Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. "Just— stupid thought. I think I need to take that as my sign to head to bed."

"Okay." Eddie tossed back the rest of his drink and started cleaning their dishes up. Steve reached out to help and Eddie stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Stay there, I've got this."

"I can help," Steve insisted. He stood up and grabbed their empty mugs. "Besides, I'm, uh… going to need some pajamas, if you have anything I can borrow?"

"Oh fuck, right!" Eddie put the bottle of bourbon back down on the coffee table and hurried down a short hallway to what Steve assumed was his bedroom.

While Eddie was gone Steve carried their dishes to the kitchen. He rinsed them out and left them to be washed in the morning. Eddie could still be heard rummaging in his room, so Steve took a moment to be a little nosy. He let his fingertip curl around the cabinet door.

Eddie didn't just have a Garfield mug. There were juice glasses with the fat orange cat on them, and were those dinner plates? Steve lifted one up carefully to get a closer look— Garfield in a night dress and cap, beside Odie in a rocking chair.

"Not what you expected, huh?"

Caught, Steve put the plate back and turned to Eddie with pink cheeks. "I was just wondering, after I saw the mugs. I would say I'm not usually that nosy, but…" He shrugged. "I would be lying."

Eddie grinned wide and Steve once more found himself watching the way the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"It's something I got into with my uncle," he explained. "We watched the cartoons together. It's something we bonded over when I moved in with him." He held something out to Steve. "I don't actually have any clean pajama pants…"

Steve unfolded the shirt. It was soft and worn, with a few tiny holes around the neck. Clearly this was a shirt that Eddie had had for a while, one he loved. And he was offering it up to Steve to use for the night.

Whatever resolve or sense of propriety Steve had left flew out the window. He'd wondered earlier what his mother would think about him having dinner with one Alpha and then going home with another one entirely.

Finding out her son not only went home with a stranger, but that he was the one who made the first move, might've sent her to an early grave.

Steve didn't let that stop him as he closed the distance between them. His hand cupped Eddie's cheek, thumb stroking his jaw, and then their lips were pressed together.

Eddie's lips were soft and warm. He tasted like chocolate and alcohol and Steve would never get enough.

"Look, I know it might be forward," he murmured. "But you smell so good, and you're so nice, and I would kick myself if I didn't shoot my shot."

Warm air brushed Steve's mouth as Eddie laughed again. Steve was becoming addicted to that, too.

"I got you tipsy and didn't give you pants to sleep in, and you think you're being forward?"

"Giving me pants would've just made it that much harder for you to get into them, wouldn't it?"

Eddie actually groaned, but then his mouth was on Steve's again and Steve's back was pressed against the lip of the counter. "Fuck, that was cheesy."

"Says the man with the Garfield collec— hey!" Steve yelped as he was lifted up onto the counter. Eddie was slim, lean, but there was a strength in his arms that was surprising.

Eddie's lips trailed over his jaw and up towards his ear. "Don't pretend the Garfield collection isn't what won you over."

"Was I that transparent?" Steve murmured. His legs came up to wrap around Eddie's waist, his arms draped around those wide shoulders.

"'Fraid so." Eddie pressed a kiss to the moles on the underside of Steve's jaw. "You know… if seeing my dinnerware made you want to jump into bed with me, I can't wait until you see my pajamas."

Steve threaded a hand into Eddie's soft hair and stole another kiss that was almost teasing. "Oh, baby. I don't think either of us could handle that."

Neither of them stopped smiling as Eddie lifted him off of the counter, as they bumped their way down the hallway.

Steve was far from a blushing virgin, had been around the block more than few times. None of his partners had been like Eddie, though.

Eddie's mouth left a trail of fire as he played connect the dots with Steve's moles. His fingers stoked Steve's pleasure higher and higher, until his thighs shook and there was a patch of slick on the bed beneath them, until he'd fallen apart not once but twice.

Eddie was right there after, too, kissing Steve's shattered edges and melting them until they were fitted together and he was whole again.

When Eddie finally settled over him, when they were finally joined as one, it was with their hands threaded together on either side of Steve's head.

It wasn't rushed. It was slow and languid, with kisses to eyelids and cheeks and chins, with Eddie sucking marks into Steve's skin and Steve urging Eddie on with his heels.

They came together with a cry from Steve and Eddie panting Steve's name into the hollow of his throat.

Afterward there was an ease with Eddie that Steve hadn't gotten from other partners. There was no hasty cleanup, no scrambling for clothes. Eddie just rolled them away from the wet spot. He kissed Steve gently, then slipped out of bed to get a wet washcloth to wipe them both off.

Steve slipped into the shirt Eddie had brought to him. It was even softer when it was on. Eddie's scent was there beneath the laundry detergent scent, too.

Eddie wrapped around him when he got back into bed. He tucked the blankets around them and buried his face in Steve's neck in a way that showed Steve wasn't the only one feeling a little scent addicted.

Sleep was just taking over when Eddie's voice roused him again.

"You think roses would be appropriate?"

"Hmm?" Steve cracked one eye open. "For what?"

"Feel like I owe your date a thank you after this."

Steve lightly smacked Eddie's hip. "You don't think there's someone else you should be thanking?"

"Oh, right." Eddie nuzzled down against the top of Steve's head and held him that much tighter. "I'll have to get some for your mom, too."

"Eddie!" Steve dissolved into sleepy giggles that he tried to stifle against Eddie's shoulder. "That's still not who I was talking about!"

"I know." Eddie pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth and gathered him impossibly closer. "Thought you might like breakfast more than flowers. Figured I would save flowers for our first date."

"This wasn't a date?" Steve asked. "What would you call it?"

Eddie took so long to answer that Steve was almost sure he'd fallen asleep, too. "Our meet cute. But we should probably leave out the sex when we tell our future grandpups."

Steve couldn't stop the purr that started in his chest.

Even if there was talk tomorrow about what he'd done, and if it made its way back to his parents, he'd met the Alpha of his dreams, someone who collected Garfield memorbilia and talked about pups before they'd even technically been on a date.

They fell asleep wrapped up together, with Steve's purr still rumbling on and the snow falling down around them.

[belaheart]

Can you make a Caitlyn x Reader playing in the snow ( snow angels, building snowmans, snowball fight)?

caitlyn x reader playing in the snow fluff

it was the perfect winter day—crisp air, clear skies, and soft snow covering everything. caitlyn was used to the busy streets of piltover, but today, you managed to convince her to take a break.

you smiled as you watched caitlyn step carefully into the snow, trying not to get dirty. her boots made soft crunching sounds with each step. “you gotta have some fun, cait” you teased, holding out your hand.

she gave you a playful look, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “im just… trying not to ruin my coat” she said, her voice softening when she saw the sparkle in your eyes. “alright, lead the way”

without saying another word, you flopped back into the snow, making a snow angel. caitlyn blinked for a second before kneeling down beside you, looking at you with a curious frown.

“what are you—?”

before she could finish, you rolled over and gently pulled her into the snow with you. she laughed, a soft, surprised sound as she tried to catch her balance.

“okay, okay, but i’m definitely making a better snow angel than you” caitlyn said, brushing off her coat. she spread her arms and legs carefully, making a snow angel that looked almost too perfect. you giggled—caitlyn’s version of fun was always so… graceful.

when she stood up and shook the snow off, she glanced at you with a teasing smile. “i think i win”

“not so fast” you said, grinning. you jumped up, scooping up some snow. “time to challenge that”

with a mischievous smile, you made a snowball and threw it at her, catching her by surprise. she gasped, quickly grabbing her own snowball.

“oh, it’s on” caitlyn said, her calm demeanor turning into playful determination. she threw her snowball, aiming perfectly, and you ducked just in time, laughing.

the next few minutes were filled with snowballs flying through the air, caitlyn’s shots and your dodges. it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, laughing and enjoying the moment.

then, out of nowhere, caitlyn threw a snowball right at your chest. you stepped back, laughing as snow flew everywhere.

“you’re gonna pay for that” you said, scooping up more snow. caitlyn raised an eyebrow, but before she could react, you threw it at her.

she gasped dramatically, wiping snow from her face. without missing a beat, she started making another snowball with a determined grin.

“alright, you’re on” she said, her voice full of playful challenge.

after a while, both of you were covered in snow, breathless from laughing and the cold, but it was the happiest you’d seen caitlyn in ages. as the sun started setting, you both paused, standing beside the snowman you’d built—a funny, crooked snowman, thanks to caitlyn’s perfectionism and your not-so-perfect skills.

caitlyn looked at the snowman, then at you, her face glowing with happiness. she reached out to brush snowflakes from your cheek, her fingers lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

“you know” she said quietly, “i didn’t think i’d enjoy a snow day like this”

you smiled and leaned in closer. “you should do this more often” you said softly. “it looks good on you”

caitlyn chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “maybe i will” she said. “but next time, i’m gonna win that snowball fight”

you grinned, pulling her into a quick hug. “we’ll see about that”

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © belaheart on tumblr. do not copy, respost or translate.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Witte Solstice - Chapter 28

Cover art by @leespinoodle.

Fic written by me (enchantedchocolatebars) and @leespinoodle.

Summary: It's winter in the Boiling Isles, and Caleb prepares to celebrate the solstice with his wife, his friends… and hopefully, with Beardo Philip! Philip swears he'll never partake in the satanic holidays of those demonic witches. But when Caleb invites him over for the solstice… maybe he'll find himself making an exception.

Ao3 version

Caleb glanced up at the sky. Thick clouds had begun to roll in, covering the stars and moon. He looked around the table at his guests, most of whom were finished eating. If it started storming, they'd have to go inside, but at least they could find a spot inside to fit the banquet table.

Upon witnessing his brother's glance go up, Philip decides to take a look at the sky as well.

He observed the potential storm clouds that dispersed across the dark sky as they began to envelope the moon and stars.

The brunette could sense his inner self start to smirk.

"You know, Caleb," Philip spoke, switching his gaze to the elder. "It would be a real shame if it started storming now. We would have to commence the solstice gathering inside."

Philip's words exhibited care and concern, but internally, he wanted nothing more than to go inside.

The sooner they were all indoors, the sooner he could commence his plan.

"You may be right…" Caleb looked around the table at the rest of the guests, many of which were agreeing.

"If you all take the dishes in, I'll take care of the tables," Evelyn said, getting up.

"Alright!" Caleb clapped his hands together and stood. The guests piled what was left of the food onto the gobble-boar platter, and Caleb took it inside.

The rest of the dishes were quickly gathered and taken inside as well, as Evelyn began putting the tables and chairs back where they belong inside the house.

Seeing his brother take care of the gobble-boar platter gave Philip an idea, a small smirk lighting up his face.

The brunette quickly sprung into action, determinedly shoving aside the guest who attempted to help Caleb with his shoulder.

"Dear brother, you simply cannot carry everything on your own," Philip told Caleb, triumphantly grinning to himself as he watched the offended guest frown at the displayed rudeness before huffing and walking away to help someone else.

The brunette knew his brother was far too busy balancing what was on the platter to notice the upset guest.

His smile soon tugged into an "earnest" one as he grabbed hold of the other side of the platter.

Philip shook his head. "I won't allow it. Let me help you. It's the least I could do to show my appreciation for the lovely feast that you and Evelyn made."

"Thank you! That's very helpful, Pip!" With Philip's help, Caleb carried the platter into the kitchen and began setting up a stew pot for the leftovers.

The rest of the guests all eventually ended up in the kitchen, some standing and some sitting, as the drinks continued to flow. Caleb grabbed himself another cup of wassail.

Philip's lips curved upward as his eyes shifted around the sitting room, witnessing just about every guest he rested his gaze upon commit one vile sin after another.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he sighed, shaking his head.

Both the sitting room and kitchen were filled with nothing but indulgences, with guests fully engaging in eating, drinking, singing, dancing, and overall being genuinely jolly as they beamed with merriment.

'What a ridiculous holiday,' Philip thought to himself as he walked out of the room and entered the kitchen, seeing Caleb with an empty cup.

Philip began his approach, mentally rubbing his hands together.

This perdition party would soon be over, as well as Caleb's fake marriage, once he revealed the number of sins he noted to his brother.

The brunette was already envisioning the billowing plumes of smoke rising in the air when the cottage collapsed in flames from the fire oil.

Caleb caught sight of Philip as he entered the room. "Would you like some wassail?" he asked, moving to grab another cup.

"No," Philip firmly declined the offer. "I have no interest in the sins of the flesh, dear brother, and neither should you."

The brunette noticed his brother reaching for yet another drink and frowned.

"Speaking of said sin, just how many of those have you had?" Philip asked, referring to the cup filled with wassail as he proceeded to cross his arms, awaiting an answer.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "It's just alcohol. You've had alcohol before. We drank wine every week in church. It's not inherently sinful."

Caleb took a long drink from his cup while looking Philip right in the eye. "Unless I'm unconscious on the floor, how much I've had is none of your concern."

Philip's brows narrowed immediately during Caleb's long sip, giving the elder an irritable look as he glared into brown eyes, pursing his lips.

"That's completely different, and you know it," he grumbled out calmly in a low voice, feeling the anger that wasn't detectable in his tone rise within him.

'THAT CALEB! HOW COULD HE! HOW COULD HE COMPARE THE VIRTUOUS PRACTICES OF THE CHURCH TO THIS BARBARIC PARTY!?' Inner Philip shouted.

"Anywho, I've counted a total of six sins committed by your so-called guests. Yes, six. I know you're aware of said number being the number of sin, Caleb Wittebane."

He'd rather face a thousand deaths twice than ever refer to him as a 'Clawthorne'.

"Philip," Caleb spoke slowly, a clear warning in his tone. The wind began to pick up, and through the windows, a blizzard could be seen forming outside.

"What?" Philip's retort was as cold and daring as the harsh winter winds swirling outside as he continued. "If you have a point to make, it's best to make it now, Caleb."

"If you can not keep your hatred out of my house, then you can take it out with you when you leave." Caleb pointed at the door as he gave his ultimatum.

Philip's blue eyes widened slightly in disbelief upon hearing his brother's harsh words.

Why was Caleb hinting at kicking him out, he wondered.

What did he do wrong?

He's been nothing but polite to those witches all night despite none of them deserving it.

The brunette grumbled harshly under his breath, resenting the fact that he had no other choice but to "better his behavior".

"... Fine!" he huffed out, almost whining, as he turned away, crossing his arms. "But I was only being truthful."

'Your guests and that Evelyn should be the ones to leave, not me. They're the hate-filled sinners made in the devil's image,' Philip hissed internally.

'Perhaps they've already hexed you with some obscured curse while I was away. That must be why you're behaving so coldly towards me!'

He huffed again.

Caleb just sighed and shook his head.

[saystrinity]

❅⊰ jschlatt: pain is never permanent (but tonight it's killing me)⟢

✦ contains: mmyummy angst, december by neck deep, gn reader, bitter schlatt ✦ notes: happy holidays, friends :))

It’s been a long, lonely December. Begrudgingly festive, as he’s forced it to be. He’s been to gathering after gathering, shopped around for friends and family, even made a few Christmassy videos - filmed the podcast episode, and all.

But nothing - not even the biting frost of the cold weather, closing out this torturously long year - has managed to distract him from the terrible, visceral bitterness, bubbling in his gut.

He’d love to be able to say he’s not bothered, that he hardly gives it a second thought; moved on so quick you’re nothing but an afterthought of an afterthought now.

But that’d be entire bull, and he’s trying to move away from lying to himself this year.

So, he has to admit, it’s all he can think about. You. You and him - the new guy. A good guy, he’s sure. He hopes. Better than he ever could have been, at least. He’ll be the one taking your delicate hand and guiding you through crowded streets, holding your shaking frame through the chill of the long nights, waking up to your bright face and twinkling eyes on Christmas morning.

This new guy will be taking on all those winter responsibilities Schlatt didn’t fight hard enough to keep, and he has to act like he’s okay with that. He gets the future Schlatt had always seen for himself; the privilege of seeing you change with the times, the joy of growing older with you, knowing you for a lifetime - all because he couldn’t bring himself to actually speak up when it was needed most.

There’s reminders of you all over the apartment, and it just makes him wonder; did you get what you wanted?

“I’d want a red door.” You’d blurted out, one evening; the hopeful spring air trailing in through the open windows as you laid out beside him.

“What’s this?” He laughed in response, propping himself up on one elbow, cold, gentle hand coming to brush a straying strand of hair from your face.

“If we ever really moved in together. Like, a house. Not some.. apartment, or penthouse, or townhouse, or condo, or-” “A house, yeah.”

“Rose-red. Like the rose bushes outside my house when I was young. And there’d be rosebushes outside this house, too. Every morning, I’ll go outside and check on them. I’ll prune them, and make some off-hand comment about how ‘this season’s treating them well’, like I know what I’m doing, like I’m someone who’s so well-versed in rosebushes.”

Does the new guy even know you want a rose-red door?

Hell, would he paint that door, just as Schlatt dreamt of? As he still does? Would he painstakingly plant any and every rose bush you could ever wish for, working away, with you watching through the kitchen window, or maybe sitting on the porch, whittering away with your endlessly endearing commentary, bringing him a glass of water and a kiss to the cheek when you could tell he needed it?

He doubts it.

But, in the same vein, Schlatt doubts he’ll ever get to do that, himself. You’re so long gone from him now, there’s no use in anything but moping, casting his mind back to much better times.

He spends the time he would’ve had with you staring out the window, not unlike a lost puppy awaiting rescue. There’s an unconscious pout to his trembling lips, deepening with every car that passes by, remembering the times he’d find you curled up on the very same windowsill, the image of domesticity whenever you’d smile up at him.

Christmas morning is equally as miserable. Moreso, even, spending it alone - alone, save for the ever-looming reminder of your absence with every turn he takes. It’s like every inch of the apartment is painted with you and your memory.

The pain is searing, churning red hot in his gut; rose-red hot.

He spends the day by his phone; receiving the usual, routine phone calls and texts, but only ever hoping for you, the twinkling sound of your voice wishing him a happy holidays - but all you’ve wished him in recent times is well. The best, even. As if that’d make it any better.

It’s been a long, lonely December; here’s to many more.

[skvaderarts]

I bet Viktor's birthday gets overshadowed during the holidays every year, so hear's a fic about a time that didn't happen. Happy Birthday, Viktor!

Seasonally Affected: AO3 Link

Summary: Word Count 5K

Upon returning to the lab after a few days off for the holidays, Jayce realizes that Viktor never left and missed the festivities. Horrified by this revelation, he resolves to give him a taste of the holiday he spent alone for the sake of progressing their shared dream of bringing Hextech to the masses. And there's only one way he knows how to do that: A birthday celebration he'll never forget.

Set later the same year that they met, I thought it would be fun to explore a time when they were still figuring everything out and developing some of the bad and good habits they would carry with them over the years. This is actually my first Arcane fic so hello Jayvik community!

Seasonally Affected

Note: A quick thank you to Moss (WickedCrescent) on Bluesky for giving me the inspiration for this. I didn’t think my first-ever Arcane fanfic would be a Christmas/birthday one-shot, but here we are! Sorry it’s arriving after the holiday. Happy birthday, Viktor!

—

The roads that led to upper Piltover had glazed over days ago, ice and snow settling into the cobbled streets and blanketing every surface available with a sturdy coating of sparkling white. Everything was frosted over from the highest windows to the roofs at the lower edges of the district. A chill clung to the wind. Just cold enough to cause anyone who ventured outside to second guess their reasons for doing so, but not to stop them entirely.

Cold had been a touchy subject for Jayce for years now. Ever since that day in the snowy mountains with his mother, he’d quaked just that little bit harder in the face of winter’s grip. But, in that same breath, he acknowledged the formative effect that it had on his life. What it had nearly taken from him it had returned in different ways. 

The chill of cold air made his skin tingle all the more, but it also reminded him of the day he’d witnessed magic with his very own eyes. The day he’d received a tantalizing glimpse into the Arcane. The day an unknown stranger possessing power and gifts too vast for his mind to comprehend had materialized from the storm itself and whisked his mother and him to safety. Not a single word had been exchanged between them, and yet, he’d given the young boy everything. The rune that he now wore around his wrist serving as his compass, his life’s motivation and calling, and more recently, someone he dared call a friend. And a friend who shared that same passion for the potential good their shared dream could do.

He wouldn’t complain about the cold. Not now. Not when it had brought such warmth into his life.

Slipping through the front door of the main building to the campus, he was greeted with an array of holiday decorations. Brillant silvers and blues, reds and golds adorned the walls, windows, and even the ceiling as banners draped down from above and helped contribute a festive flare to the already ornate building. He had to be one of the only people there, especially at such a late hour. They’d officially closed the place to the public over the holiday, so people would start to filter back in during the next day or so. It was open to faculty, but few were taking up the opportunity to work over the holidays. 

Most people were at home with their friends and families, spending time with their loved ones. Opening gifts with their children and making treasured memories to look back on later. Something he’d just done himself, actually. But before he settled in for more holiday fun, there was something he needed to take care of. Something that had been bugging him ever since he’d left two days prior. He would grab a few things and then return home to run a few experiments in his downtime between the seasons' festivities. Nothing too illegal and certainly not dangerous. Then his mind could relax. 

Maybe. Probably not.

The office they currently shared was temporary. Renovations were underway to provide something more… reinforced for some of their more delicate experiments. So in the meantime, they’d been focusing on medium-scale projects and prototypes and getting their ideas down on paper. Having a concrete base to work with. Something that sounded dull on paper but they both genuinely enjoyed it. The room might be small, but it worked, and that was all that mattered for their purposes.

That being said, the building had a nice view of the city and the bay. Of the Undercity. The place where his office mate hailed from. The place that drove him towards their shared dream of progress and helping the downtrodden. A place so inhospitable to outsiders that he’d stuck out like a sore thumb the one time he’d ventured down there. They’d needed materials from there since his last trip, but he’d been talked out of going himself. His partner insisted he go instead. That he knew the place better. And he believed him but he just…

He hoped they could do something to help sooner rather than later. If the little taste of the place he’d received during his singular trip below was any inkling of the general quality of life down there, then it was a land rife with a need for the benefits of Hextech.

Everything seemed to keep pulling him in a thousand different directions, so many of which seemed to be headed way from what they hoped to accomplish together. He felt more popular than ever these days. Ever since the Distinguished Innovators Competition a few months back, they’d been inundated with requests for meetings and offers for deals of various sorts with seemingly every person who was of even marginal importance in Piltover. Well, Jayce had been, to be more specific. He’d observed that the general public was as eager to recognize the existence of his newfound partner as said partner was about speaking publicly again. Jayce had barely kept it together, but at least he’d been able to speak…

For all his strengths, he’d found Viktor’s one weakness. Public speaking.

They’d gotten a few words out of him, but they’d had to turn up the microphone initially to be able to hear him. The sudden volume adjustment had startled him more, stunning him for a moment before he’d shaken off the nerves and finished his portion of the speech. He’d then handed the microphone back to Jayce with grace and proceeded to conceal his eternal screaming for the rest of the presentation, something he’d done an admirable job at. From a distance, at least.

Jayce hoped that he’d be able to help him with that in the coming year. He was just better at explaining certain things than he was, and his contributions wouldn’t be ignored. Not if he had anything to say about it. He might’ve come up with the concept of Hextech, but it wouldn’t exist without both of them. They were its parents in a sense. Jayce had been stumped for a while before Viktor had come along, and he’d cracked it so fast. Almost as though it were something they’d been destined to create together. Something they needed to bring to fruition with their combined passion for innovation and prosperity. A sense of responsibility for others so tangible that they could not deny it. They had the answers within their grasp. Now they only needed to work out the details.

Approaching the door Jayce unlocked it and pushed it open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light as he stepped in and closed the door, but as soon as they did, the first thing he noticed was the chalkboard. It spanned the back wall on one side of the room. The side of the room that had ended up being Viktor’s. 

It was full. Spiraling lines and complex diagrams. Algorithms and equations that would stump some of the greatest mathematicians of their time containing symbols both conventional and magical that would cause the average bystander to blank. Several sections were circled in different colors of chalk with lines denoting their importance. A few were linked together by rows of lines in an attempt to reconcile what importance they might have to the system as it stood as a whole. It was as intriguing to behold as it had to be time-consuming to work out.

It seemed that the same thing that had been keeping him up at night had been on Viktor’s mind, too.

Turning to face the built-in desk at the far side of the room, Jayce was greeted with a sight he half expected to see after being greeted by that chalkboard but still slightly hoped he wouldn’t. Viktor was slumped over the desk, still working something out and seemingly just out of it enough to have not noticed that he’d entered the room. Initially. He straightened up the instant that he started to make his way over to that side of the room, taking the arm he’d been sleeping on and using it to prop himself up before rubbing his face with both of his hands and then running them back through his hair, visibly trying to shake off his lack of sleep. He’d probably just dozed off not that long ago.

“Jayce. I didn’t notice you came in. Your holiday was pleasant, I presume?”

He certainly sounded like a man who’d been asleep at his desk, that was for certain. Slightly groggy but otherwise himself. Perhaps that was because he always seemed to be that way these days; costing on an insufficient amount of sleep. Wiling away the hours working on some new advancement. And it showed. The breakneck pace that Hextech was advancing at was something that no one person could ever hope to achieve alone. Not with any sense of realism. But together they’d made great progress. Jayce just couldn't hope but notice that a good portion of that progress came at the expense of his partner’s sleep. No matter how early he came in Viktor always beat him there. And he was starting to come to the sobering realization that was because he never went home.

Even over the holidays.

“It’s been great so far. You should swing by. I’m sure my mom would love to see you.” Jayce responded, not immediately leading into the elephant in the room. He would ask him about the equation later unless he went there first. But the offer was genuine, just like everything else about him. About both of them. He’d love to talk him into coming over and spending a little time away from it all, even if it was something they both loved so dearly. “You… haven’t been here the entire time, have you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, adjusting his neck by tilting it from side to side. He blinked slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “There was so much to be done.”

It was the truth, plain and simple. And yet.

“It’s late. Maybe get some rest and come back tomorrow?” Jayce said with a pleasant air that disguised his growing concern for his friend’s lack of meaningful sleep. He leaned against the desk next to him, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder as he spoke just that little bit softer. “The deadline for the reports is still a while off. We have plenty of time. And I know that chair has to feel harder than the floor right about now.”

“It has for a while now, yes,” Viktor admitted, splitting his attention between trying to speak with him and trying to recall what he’d been working on before he’d dozed off. He wasn’t going to argue against that point. Sometimes it felt like he entered a sort of fugue state sometimes when he started crunching numbers. Time just stopped becoming a factor, even if he could feel the passage of time taking its toll nonetheless. He didn’t budge though. Didn’t move to stand. Didn’t even consider grabbing his cane and doing something about that. Continuing to play catch up with himself. On some subconscious level, they both knew he needed to walk away from this for a while and revisit it with a fresh mind, the the itch to keep going and ignore the consequences of pushing his upper limits was there. He was so close to figuring this out. Just a little more time… 

Something occurred to Jayce at that moment. Dawning on him out of the blue as he realized he was losing the battle he’d barely started to get Viktor to just go home for a few hours and get some rest.

“Wait… Isn’t your birthday tomorrow? I remember prying that out of you a while back. Right after the holiday, right?”

Probably something else about him that was overshadowed by something bigger.

Viktor stopped writing and looked up, a mixture of confusion with a twinge of annoyance on his face. He seemed to wonder where the question had suddenly come from but didn’t say as much, instead focusing on his work again. “What day is it?”

Jayce gave him a strange look. Had he really been here so long that he’d forgotten the date? Did he even know what day of the week it was? How long had he been there before the winter recess had even begun? “Um, the 28th. For a few more hours, at least.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize that. I think I’ve been sitting here a little longer than I expected.” He ran his palms down his face again, inhaling deeply at the sensation his tired eyelids felt as he did so. They tingled, bordering on sore. “The formulation still needs so much work…”

“It looks fantastic so far. And you can tell me all about it. First thing tomorrow.” 

Viktor sighed. He didn’t give him a yes or a no. Instead, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, grasping his cane as he let out a tired sigh. It wasn’t directed at Jayce. He genuinely just needed to sleep. Jayce was right about that. No matter how many times he stared at the blueprints he’d been working on they weren’t going to make more sense. He needed to reset. Then they could work on this together. Something to look forward to.

Little did Viktor know that Jayce wouldn’t actually be leaving. At least, not for long. Jayce had something in mind. He just needed him to leave first.

“Great, I’ll lock up behind you. What I came here for can wait a few more hours.” Jayce wasn’t a gifted liar by any means, but perhaps if he just remained calm that wouldn’t matter.

Nodding in agreement the pair headed to the door. Jayce waited for Viktor to grab his own coat, never having taken his own off before exiting the room and locking everything up behind them. They were probably the only ones here, and now the building would go quiet. Just for a little while.

Making their way down the floors that let out to the main street, Jayce resolved to walk Viktor home. He didn’t need to ask. It was just one of those things that his partner sometimes let him do. It wasn’t any hardship on his part. Viktor didn’t live far from the lab, and Jayce didn’t live far from him. On the same block, in fact. Call it convenience or happenstance, either explanation applied. And yet they never met up outside of office hours. Work-life balance was a fine art and they were both failing at it, it seemed.

They continued along together, chatting quietly more in an effort to stay awake than anything else. Although he was nowhere near the level of sleep-deprived that Viktor was, Jayce still had to admit to being a little tired himself. It had been a long but enjoyable day, and with what he had planned taken into consideration he got the impression that tomorrow would be another flavor of the same. He hoped.

It didn’t take them long to reach Viktor’s residence. Both of their personal residences resided within an area filled with lush green gardens and trees, the leaves of which were mostly gone save for a few evergreens. Typical of that region of Piltover, and yet so extravagant in comparison to some other parts of time if only for how established they were. How settled the whole place felt. It was quiet as the snow began to fall again, soon to cover their tracks. They needed to go their separate ways. The sun had already set and Jayce was running out of time.

“Goodnight, Jayce.” He’d beaten him to the punch this time around. Perhaps he was just too tired for a long goodbye. He hoped the walkover had drained him enough to make him go straight to bed and not sit up for another hour or two fiddling with something where he’d inevitably doze off in an uncomfortable position, but he’d done all he could for now. Viktor could take care of himself. He just hoped he chose to this time around instead of pushing himself too hard. A bad habit they both shared.

Goodnight, Viktor.” He didn’t know why they lingered there after saying their goodbyes, but they did. Even if only for a minute standing several yards apart at different elevations all together, Jayce on the street level and Viktor above him in a rare case of being taller than him. It was the front stoop doing all the legwork, but still. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to look up at his shorter companion.

The tired man gave him a small, tired smile accompanied by a single wave before going through the door and closing it behind himself. It clicked behind him and then everything was silent again, save for a gust of wind through the trees that settled as soon as it started. Jayce stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move as he gripped his coat just a little tighter. He would walk to the end of the street, just in case. And then he would go from there.

His first stop as soon as he left Viktor’s potential line of sight was the markets. What few were still open would suffice. For what he had planned he didn’t need to be anything complicated-

Yes, it did.

Jayce wasn’t a man to do things by half measures, at least not intentionally. He liked to think so, anyway. And this was something it shouldn’t be hard to get right. At least on paper. He didn’t know how Viktor would react to being surprised since he’d never attempted to surprise him before, but he hoped he liked it. He really did.

As always, shopping for anything during the holidays took twice as long as he assumed it would, but the hardest part was getting everything back to the lab without his arms giving up the ghost. He resolved to make two trips; one for decorations and one to find something, anything to give him that he might like. 

“But what could that even be” He wondered to himself as he looked around, hoping that something might catch his eye at one of the last stalls that were still open at such an advanced hour. And surprisingly enough, something managed to.

A diminutive little cactus. 

It was a prickly little thing, indelicate but with an undeniable sense of interest and nuance. Ever so slightly lopsided, perhaps a result of unideal growing conditions that had rendered it undesirable to others who might have picked it. Nothing that couldn’t be helped along a better path if given a chance. Still a unique and beautiful thing, especially if someone was willing to put in the work to nurture it a little. And yet somehow still blooming in the dead of winter. At night, no less. 

It reminded him of someone.

It was perfect.

Jayce returned to the office, just a little too excited before remembering that he still had to decorate. House Talis red and gold were too festive to pass up for something like this. He didn’t even think about it at the time. He just picked the colors and went from there. And as the first and second hours flew by and in a haze of movement he gradually slowed down. The need to sleep, even if only for a little while, became too powerful to ignore. All the hard parts were done. He’d tackled them first. He just had a handful of little touches to add here and there and it would be as close to perfect as it could be given what he had on hand.

Opting to take a break for a little while, he sat down in his own chair at the desk opposite to Viktor’s and before long he dozed off. When he awoke he immediately noticed the passage of time. It was faint, but he could see the morning light reflecting off the waters of the bay, far off in the distance. It had been a few hours at least. He had a few things to see to before the sun reached any higher in the sky.

Dragging himself to his feet he opted to fix something to drink. It was cold out still. The perfect weather for Sweetmilk. He knew his friend loved the stuff, so he made sure to top off the supplies required to make it wherever it dwindled. Now if he could just remember how much sugar he was supposed to put in it. Was it two scoops? Two scoops. Surely. That was something he would normally remember, but it seemed that his inadequate sleeping hours had put him in something of a haze. He’d shake it off eventually. He had a long day ahead of him.

With the drinks prepared but still too hot to drink, he sat both mugs down on the desk and then sat down himself, right where he’d been a few short minutes earlier.

Perhaps he could rest his eyes for a few more minutes. And maybe a few dozen more after that. Dawn had barely broken, after all. There was no way that-

Suddenly the click of something beyond the door became perceptible. It was faint, but he knew that sound anywhere. As if the essence of one of the crystals they’d been working on had been suffused into his very veins, he found himself wide awake. He sidestepped the chair as he stood to avoid getting tangled in it before going to adjust the lights. Well, to light a few additional candles that he’d procured to make the room less dark on such a gloomy day, but the point still stood.

Moments later the door unlocked and Viktor entered their shared space, immediately doing a noticeable doubletake at the state of the lab. From the ceiling above them to the surface of their long, shared desk, no surface had been left untouched. Jayce had evidently found notable satisfaction in placing things here and there to spruce up the place. But the most notable feature by far was the tree he’d taken the time to set up.

It was taller than Jayce was, something that had made maneuvering it into place something of a challenge, but when had he ever backed down from one of those anyway?

Viktor walked around the space silently taking in everything, his expression hard to read. He seemed genuinely baffled that his companion had gone to such lengths. What had possessed him to do such a thing so suddenly?

“Jayce where did the tree-”

“Surprise!” He interrupted, approaching him and handing him one of the two mugs he’d prepared as the shorter of the two shrugged out of this winter coat, draping it over the back of his chair. He turned around, a certain glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. Or perhaps it was the decorations. Who was to say? He didn’t look annoyed or dissatisfied, and that was a good start as far as Jayce was concerned.

“Happy birthday! I figured since you missed all the celebrations by being here we couldn’t miss today, too.”

Viktor stared at him incredulously, accepting the mug. The warmth was pleasant to his cold hands in the same way that the warmth of the room itself was pleasant to behold. Or perhaps that was an effect of standing near Jayce. He did exude a certain comforting warmth. Like a walking blanket.

“It’s not a big deal, Jayce. You didn’t have to go to such trouble.”

“I know you think that, but I thought,” He wasn’t sure quite how to express what was on his mind, so he decided to just spit it out. “I feel like our lives have changed so much in the last couple of months. That we’ve really gotten to know each other. We both work so hard on our shared dream- you especially lately. I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t forget about you despite everything else that’s been taking up our time.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly to one side. It was barely perceptible, just like the humbled little smile that crossed his face before he decided to indulge in his drink. Once he was done, he looked up again, as amused as he was oddly touched by the gesture. Never once in a million years had he expected someone to do something this kind for him. This thoughtful. Jayce was something special. Truly.

Setting his now empty mug down, Jayce walked over with a small box, offering to hold the cup for his lab partner as he regarded the bow with a look of disbelief. He looked like it was the first time he’d ever been given. Maybe it was. “I don’t know if they bother with this sort of thing where you’re from, but still. Maybe we can make it our yearly tradition?” 

If not somewhat reluctantly, he took the box, lifting the decorated lid and beholding the tiny potted plant within. It was a showy thing, the kind of box that opened on all four sides when you removed the lid, falling open in his hand. A sparkle of something so pure in his eyes that it rendered him breathless for an instant. It reminded Jayce of the night they’d had their breakthrough with Hextech, the two of them drifting joyfully among their possibilities that were not fathomable when the two of them faced them together. 

He’d picked the right gift. He could tell.

Stepping away to set the delicate little thing down in front of the window that sat at the heart of their space, Viktor then retreated to his coat and seemed to search for something before withdrawing the scarf that he’d worn over that day. A new one, by the looks of it. Or, at least one Jayce had never seen before. He leaned his cane against the desk for a moment and then folded the garment carefully before extending his hand to Jayce.

“Here. Maybe your neck won’t be as cold.” He said, gently placing the now folded garment into Jayce’s hand. Jayce, understandably, was surprised by the gesture. He’d seemed to like that scarf quite a bit and it was very nicely made. Knitted delicately in shades that matched both of their clothing due to their propensity to wear matching colors. It was such a rarity that Viktor bought new things for himself like this… 

“Viktor I-” He started to protest but then thought better of himself. Why had he ever thought that this would be a one-sided exchange? That wasn’t how it worked with Viktor and it never would be. Returning kindness with kindness was simply who they were. It was why they were here. What brought them together and kept them close. “Thank you, Viktor.”

Nodding, Viktor’s eyes had drifted over towards the end of his own desk, noticing for the first time that Jayce had seemingly brought them breakfast. Lunch? Food. The name of the meal didn’t matter when you worked hours this atypical. But the sentiment did and he appreciated the gesture. “Thank you, Jayce.”

He tried to shrug it off as being no big deal but the flush in his face and the pleased look on his face told on him more than he realized. A look that was replaced a moment later by a yawn. Perhaps drinking a hot drink in a cozy room on a snowy day was not a good way to stay awake, after all. He blinked, his eyes watering slightly as he tried to play off his tiredness despite the rate at which it was catching up with him. Maybe it was time to sit down for a moment and just rest. Something that he did without giving it much thought.

“Eh. Maybe you should get some sleep?” He looked almost too happy to have the chance to throw that one back at him so soon. Still, the statement was genuine and held truth. They were like the sun and the moon fighting the tide. Two forces forever in flux but balanced all the same. They’d get back on the same schedule with one another. Eventually. “I have plenty to do to keep myself busy.”

The taller of the two shook his head and settled into his desk chair, leaning his arm against the desk and his head against his arm. He closed his eyes and let out a yawn, nodding. “I need maybe thirty minutes and then I’ll be right with you.”

Viktor didn’t confirm or disapprove of his request in any way. He would let thirty minutes turn into sixty and then sixty into one hundred and twenty with no intention of waking him from his slumber. Maybe they both needed more sleep while they could get it.

He would let him sleep in. He’d more than earned it through sentimentality alone. Maybe by then Viktor’s own work would make sense to him again.

Jayce never explained where all the scarves came from as the years passed, and the collection of strange cactuses and succulents that seemed to gradually spring up from nowhere grew ever larger in what little window space they had at the lab until one day Viktor finally took them home with him; only to come back the next day and find a new one on his desk with no explanation. A leafy green thing with thick spines and colored tips. Hardy and resilient but never lacking in beauty. Jayce was sure he’d seen him smile as he held the pot up, placing it in the window where it stood the best chance of survival. 

That thing never managed to die. 

He had such a way with plants.

Maybe one of these days he’d get him to come over for the holidays, after all.

—

Well, THIS got tooth rottingly sentimental, didn’t it lol? I really hope it was decent. I’ve never written anything Arcane-related before so phew! Writing dialogue between these two is a fun challenge. I have more in store since I keep receiving requests. I have two AUs that I’m cooking up, so check out my Tumblr and my Bluesky if you want more in-depth info on that. The links are in my bio. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know if it was any good. You have a great holiday season, everyone! Thanks again for reading! Have a great day.

[mysteriousrainsworld]

a funfair date

pairing: bf! yunho x gf! reader

genre: fluff, slice of life

summary: you’ve been wanting to go to the funfair to relive your childhood. now that you’re with yunho, you can make even better memories with him.

word count: 2.5k (2,515)

warnings: uhh reader is a bit (maybe a lot) shy, yunho leaves (only for a bit!) and she feels a little anxious, bf! yunho understands her needs better than her, uhh anything else and there’d be no point in reading?😭 OH pet names: baby (overused i’m sorry😓), my love, honey, my precious baby

author’s note: this was very self indulgent lol. my first ever fic 😱 i’ve had so many ideas but this is the first that i actually fully wrote cos i just wanna go to the funfair rn and would it be so bad to go with yunho :/. anyways, hope you love it and i would appreciate feedback 😋 ALSO ignore any grammatical errors lmao i went back and forth so much trying to make it all present tense but my brain hurt :/ leave me alone regarding that lol. enjoyyy!

“one sec, baby, i’ll be right back.”

your eyes widen as your boyfriend leaves your side. you turn to view his retreating figure, too embarrassed because of the people behind you in line to call out to him.

“y-yunho…?” you murmur, confused and a bit anxious as to why he suddenly left you alone.

“next!”

it was hook a duck, a game at funfairs you played often and loved as a child. you were so excited to be here with yunho, wanting to experience the loud lights in the dark hours of winter at 5pm. yet now it seemed like you were going to do the first activity by yourself. you’re given the rod and you aim for a duck to latch onto. as you’re about to hook one on, yunho’s voice hits your ears causing you to knock into the duck you were about to catch. before the stand owner could sense a failure, you quickly hook your duck, smiling to the owner for your prize but then glaring at yunho for his interruption and his prior exit. he’s oblivious to this though, eyeing the prizes as if he had a choice.

“so, what would you like?”

you turn your face to the multitude of plushies that came in all sizes, yet you knew for this game you could only have a small one.

“hmmm…”

“baby, they have the me to you tatty teddy bear! you love those.”

it was true, for some reason that bear was precious to you since you were young and as much as you wanted to refute yunho because of your slight annoyance with him, you couldn’t deny your love for that specific teddy.

“i’ll have that one, please.”

“here you go.”

“thank you!” you beam at the owner before turning around, walking towards the rides with your teddy in tow.

“where on earth did you go? you left me all alone,” you pout at yunho with furrowed brows.

“i went to get this.” only now do you realise he was hiding his hands away from your vision. he shows you the cotton candy he got and you make a face.

“yunho, you know i don’t like that.”

he pouts back at you, “oh, i know baby, that’s why i got you this.”

that’s when you see what he was hiding with his other hand: a blue and red slushie. your desperation to continue being annoyed with him wasn’t as big as your need to have something sweet on your tongue, so you take the large cup from him and relish in the taste. he grins at you, happy to see you satisfied.

“thank you, yunho.”

“no worries, baby. where to next?”

you look around at the rides, pretending to wonder about what to first ride on when you knew you already had made a plan before your trip. yunho knew this too but pretends to wonder with you.

“how about the…”

“the…”

you giggle as you look at him with hearts in your eyes, “the miami trip ride?”

“perfect, baby. lead the way.”

you wrap your arm around his and walk towards the ride, yunho putting his cotton candy stick in the bin on the way. as you approach the line, the usual nerves overtake you. you sip on some of your slushie hoping to keep calm but yunho can sense your nervousness.

“hey. baby.”

“yeah?”

“i’m excited,” he smiles at you so wide his glasses bunch up on his nose.

despite your nerves, yunho’s words help you voice your own excitement, “me too! i can’t wait.” you smile at him, grateful for his grounding presence.

finally, you’re allowed access to the seats of the ride. yunho knew you didn’t like sitting next to strangers so he sits next to you whilst you sit on the end. as soon as everyone is seated, the ride starts, slowly at first and then building momentum, going faster and faster which caused your stomach to have butterflies every time the ride came rushing down. it wasn’t too high but you could still get an overall view of the park, allowing your mind to capture the full picture of the aesthetic of the funfair. soon, the ride comes to an end and yunho helps you out. you pick up your slushie from where you had placed it on the ground and grab yunho’s hand to lead him to the next ride, adrenaline coursing through you.

luckily there was space for more people to join so you and yunho were admitted into the tagada ride without having to wait in line.

you sit in the middle where there was space and the ride begins. similar to the other ride, you were going at a soft pace until the conductor wanted to shake things up and started making it spin faster, making more bumps occur. a few times your legs lift into the air with your arms held onto the railing behind you. to stop you from momentarily levitating, yunho placed one of his long legs over your lap, securing you in place. you may not admit it but this is what you wanted the outcome of this ride to be: you held by him. you heart flutters but you try not to let your giddiness at his action show too much. he seemed content with keeping you safe and that was enough for the both of you. some other people did fall and you felt bad for finding it funny so you tried to hide your face behind yunho’s shoulder. eventually, the fun was over and you both headed to the next ride, not as disorientated as everyone else.

you once again had yunho’s hand in yours and was about to beeline to the next ride when he pulls you back. it was a bit comic, the way your leg stuck out only to fall back into his arms.

“how about we take a five minute break, yeah?” he speaks into your ear. it tickles but you couldn’t help the smirk that falls over your features.

you face him. “why? you getting scared?”

he chuckles at you. “no, baby, just thinking we don’t wanna waste all our energy now and be too tired to enjoy the rest of our time.”

he looks at you knowingly and you lower your gaze to the side. he was talking about you of course, since you tended to get overexcited when you were happy and that led to early burnout.

“okay, let’s find a bench to sit on.”

due to it being the middle of winter, the cold bit at exposed fingertips and noses with a dark azure blanket covering the park, which meant there weren’t as many people at the funfair than there would have been during the summer. you didn’t mind this at all, savouring the music from the rides travelling through the air.

“come here, baby.” yunho wraps one of his arms around you to pull you closer.

“yunho, i’m about to sit on your lap!”

“so? sit on it.”

“nooo! people will see us.”

“and? we’re just tryna keep warm.”

“i’m warm enough,” you huff at him.

“i want you to be warm more than enough.”

you look at yunho’s face and see the sincerity in it. the bright lights surrounding you two reflect from his glasses, looking like he was shooting stars from his eyes.

“being here with you is more than enough. i’m content. even tho the weather is freezing, i feel warm when i’m with you.”

because of the cold, because of your words, whichever it was, a light pink tint crept upon yunho’s face. you wanted to kiss him, just a peck, maybe even on the nose but your awareness of other people made you hold back. just as you were about to turn to get up, yunho’s face drops to yours and places a sweet kiss on your lips. he lingers but not for long, speaking just a breath away from you, “i love you.” it was your turn to blush.

before your shyness could overtake you, yunho gets up holding your hand and leads you to the next ride.

“wait, how did you know this was next?”

“mmm, just had an inkling.” he winks at you and you shake your head laughing.

it was time for one of your all time childhood favourites.

after waiting in line for less than five minutes, you and yunho sit in a cart and push the barrier over yourselves to make sure you were secure so that you wouldn’t fall out. when everyone was ready, the ride came to life, with its blinding lights and powerful music. you start moving forward, going up and down as if riding the waves of a smooth ocean. it starts to pick up pace and after a few minutes, your cart begins spinning, turning side to side. it felt like you were in a chaotic ballroom, where the moves were the same but harsher and with upbeat tunes. you fight to keep your eyes open, the intensity making you want to just snuggle against yunho. but you keep your hands on the handle and continue to enjoy the ride.

when it ends, you have to hold onto yunho for support, feeling a bit dizzy. he grasps your waist as he gets you both out of the ride and back on the ground.

“wow.”

“you okay, baby?”

“yeah, that was … a lot than i remember. but i’m okay! but… can we sit down… heh…?”

“of course we can, my love.” yunho smiles as he guides you to the bench you were sat on previously. he didn’t sit down with you, choosing to stand with his arms crossed, looking around as you gather your senses.

“hey, baby. how bout we go on the teacups?” he quirks an eyebrow.

“the teacups?” they aren’t a part of your plan, yet you don’t want to say no either. if you ride them for a bit, it would allow you more time to spend with yunho, and that was the whole point of today. “okay, help me up.”

he grabs both of your hands and then you make your way to the multicoloured teacups awaiting someone to sit in them.

it was getting late, meaning no children were scrambling to get on and you guessed maybe the remaining adults didn’t want to ride a stereotypical children’s ride, which was a bonus for you.

“go on, baby, go pick one.”

you didn’t think about it and just walked until you felt satisfied.

“i see, your favourite colour, honey.”

“oh. oh yeah.” maybe that’s why the green one felt right to you.

the teacups started moving and the whole ride was relatively slow, but that didn’t bother you as you felt calm. you and yunho spin your own teacup for a bit of fun but you mainly enjoyed each other’s presence, basking in the warm glow of the lights above.

it ends sooner than you expect. you drag your tired legs from the teacup and hold yunho’s hand as you both get off the ride. it was time for the next phase of your plan but it didn’t feel right to carry out yet. you didn’t know what to do in the meantime, eyes desperately flicking between the stands and rides that surrounded you.

yunho gasps, which scares you. “what?”

he points at a truck towards his left, a little closer to the end of the park. “churros.”

“oh,” you sigh in relief. “you want some?”

“do you?”

“hmm, yeah actually. let’s get some.” you smile up at him as you hold onto his arm, making your way there.

once you acquire the churros with the accompanying chocolate dip, you feel it’s the right moment.

“yunho, let’s have these whilst we ride the ferris wheel.”

he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and awe. “baby, that’s such a good idea. let’s go.”

finally, the last stop of the day. there were a few other couples getting on the ferris wheel as well, which annoyed you slightly, but you were grateful for the ride conductor for spacing out the people between the carts.

you get in with yunho and your churros, sitting down facing each other. at first, you sit in silence, the pair of you quietly enjoying the sweet treat, occasionally looking out down below. once you finish eating, you could only stare at yunho. shyness crept upon you for a second time that day and you try to avoid eye contact with him. you wanted this alone time together but could hardly handle being alone with him so intimately, let alone initiate anything.

yunho continues to look at your flustered figure, noticing how stiff your body was compared to you eyes flittering all around the cart. he tilts his head with a light smile, finding it cute how hot and bothered you became around him.

without a word, he pulls you onto his lap. you were about to pull away but this only made him hold you closer.

“shh, baby. we’re all alone. we’ll be fine.”

as he said that, the cart stops and you look out the window to see you were at the very top. just like you wanted.

yunho could sense you were too shy to make a move you had planned to make so he wanted to help you. he moves his face to yours so he could look straight into your eyes. you felt yourself warm up, contrary to the weather outside. holding onto his collar, you make yourself look back into his eyes, even if that had you slightly quivering.

“baby,” he speaks on your lips and your eyelids flutter. you will yourself to not shut them completely, resuming the staring contest.

he smiles against you. “ba-“ before he could finish the word, you press you face to his to close the gap, lightly kissing him. after a few (very long) seconds, you pull away, your eyes wide as if you didn’t expect yourself to make the first move. but you did, and yunho was so proud of you.

“my precious baby, kissing me first, hm?” you were ready to hide your face in his chest but he places his hands on your cheeks to keep you in place. “i loved it, should do it more often.” you whine at his words but you both knew how much that filled you with confidence.

the ride starts again, taking you down to the surface where you would have to depart. you wrap you arms around yunho’s neck and whisper in his ear, “i love you, yunho.” even though you were the only ones who would have heard it, your soft voice highlights the vulnerability you feel in the moment.

“i know, baby. i love you too.”

as you near the bottom, yunho gently places you on the seat you were sitting on opposite him and soon the doors open. you look at each other as you have everything you needed, walking out with your hands entwined and your tatty teddy bear in the other.

[mya-jaa5]

jealousy

scaramouche and you have been friends for a while, at first you two didn’t talk to each other, until he started greeting you in the mornings, or talk to you during class, even sometimes helping you with homework at lunch. scaramouche was funny, he had sarcastic humor, you like to tease him, just to get a reaction from him since he likes to act nonchalant all the time… But it was just all fun.

Until recently you noticed even when you don’t sit next to him in class, he glanced at you a lot, he’s quiet, not a lot of friends, but he can talk if you talk to him, like teachers. Even your friends tell you how he always glances at you in class, you were a little happy, getting small attention from a guy who’s practically a loner…. He’s cute… You don’t care for his reputation, just his personality.

You weren’t the most popular, but you and your big friend group made you known… seeing this scaramouche became a bit hesitant that you were gaining more friends, people to talk to, even when you weren’t around your main friends you always had someone else you talked to… Scaramouche knew this was your personality, you had no control over it…. Surly he could so something about it. 

Slowly…. Scaramouche started doing little things for you, like if you didn’t have a pencil, he’d go in front of the class just to get one for you, or if you printed photos out for a project he’d pick it up and hand it to you, even going out of his way to give you snacks without asking you. It was the little things that made you happy.

Scaramouche started to overthink also, what if you started another friendship? With another guy, what if you two get closer than what scaramouche and you have, i mean technically you may have put your friend group over him but… But that only means for little competition for your attention, but it made sense why since he’s a guy…  Scaramouche wants to be your first, your to go person, the person Y/N seeks too, message, any type of time spent with you, and your attention focused him.

Scaramouche decided that now he needed to save you. 

It was the perfect time around, winter hit, seasonal depression slowly getting to you,  well just recently you’ve been feeling down, your friends were in a bit of a argument, which caused you to choose between your friends, and your home life… Man scaramouche would never tell you, but it was pathetic, plus with all the progress he made just to be close enough to you to listen to your problems, issues. Scaramouche knew he soothed you, comforted you. Everything he did was intentional. 

Soon you will see. 

____

Today a guy ends up confessing to you, the guy told you to text him how you feel since you didn’t have an answer right then and there. Later you and scaramouche had class together, you both normally chatted, scaramouche was focused on his assignment while you were looking at the board, cus you were done.

“Yeah some guy had confessed to me today… I didn’t really know him so i told him to give me time” y/n said.

Scaramouche didn’t look up from his paper, he was focused on his assignment.

“You didn’t really know him?” 

Scaramouche repeats what you said.

“The answer is clear y/n, why do you need time to think about an answer.”

Scaramouche was saying that the clear answer was no

“Your only gonna get his hopes up, if you had gave him the straight forward answer you wouldn’t be worrying about this” 

still focused on his assignment 

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah well… He also said he wanted to get to know me… And we could take it slow… That sounds a little reassuring….?”

Y/n said.

Scaramouche looks up at you blankly.

“y/n… You’ve gotten this far right? What’s to change for this boy you barely know, not only that but going for a guy who gives you the slightest bit of attention? Don’t be a pick me….”

You were a bit surprised at his honesty, you knew he was blunt but geez…

“Hey! i’m not a pick me… It’s not like i fell in love with the guy already… i just considering it… Maybe talking to him, getting to know him would be nice, and a nice way to enter a relationship-“

“Stop there y/n… You don’t work on relationships… They just happen, that’s like me saying i’m working on being best friends with someone, that’s just weird. If you want a genuine relationship just let it happen.” 

He sternly said, like he’s shutting down your idea.

You scratched your head as you turn to look at him.

“…. This situation don’t feel like something genuine…?”

You asked scaramouche, actually wondering and considering his words.

He gave you one glance, then returned to his homework.

“No, if you need emotional support i’ll go with you to refuse his confession.”

“hm…” You look down at your paper now thinking.

His words were a little harsh, maybe you are over thinking this, you finalize your thought with a “it’s better to be single” and accept it. 

“…Yeah your probably right..…” You say.

after a moment a silence…

Scaramouche looks at you once more, his eyes softening just a bit if you were really paying attention… You were looking at your homework now. 

“Just text him y/n… I’m sure after that he’ll leave you alone… Plus i’ll probably provoke him so, don’t think too much about it.”

He tells you reassuring you.

It did reassure you, since you didn’t want to approach the guy to only tell him bad news… texting him would be much better, easier and no drama.

You’d come up with a explanation and text it to him soon…

_______

Few days later scaramouche invited you to go the store with him after school, saying he’d give you a ride back, and that he needed supplies for a certain project in one of his classes. Now who are you to turn down a free ride, and a nice car? currently scaramouche was taking you home, you were just drinking a soda scaramouche bought you, and thankfully graced him for, you were quite thirsty, you even forgotten your water bottle that day... though it tasted weird… metallic almost… you look down at the drink seeing it fuzz… like it’s reacting to something in the drink, kinda looked like powder in the drink.

“this taste weird… did you taste the drink before buying it-“

And next thing you know you were knocked out…

____

You soon wake up… Candle scented room… You open your eyes and see that your in a room… You were laying on a towel of some sort on the floor, the room is pretty empty, besides some drawers or rubble… also the fact that the whole room is covered in saran wrap…

You try to get up only to hear a shackle sound, you froze and tried again… Seeing that it resisted you there on the hard railing, only one of your hands but there wasn’t anything you can reach with your arm chained to the bed… despite it being black in the room the candles showed just a little, only 2 being lit. Seems like you made a lot of noise because…

You hear the room door unlock. 

Scaramouche comes into the room and throws a bag filled with something heavy on the floor. Then comes up to you.

“Hello y/n” 

He squats in front of you, this was the first time you ever saw him smile willingly, or up most… this side to him was new, he had crazed eyes, he was fidgeting a little.

“Scaramouche why am i here…??”

You say timidly.

Scaramouche eyes seem to soften when you spoke in a low scared tone, something that’s rare for scaramouche. Scaramouche sits a bit besides you.

“Your so pathetic y/n… Wanting love, accepting any kind of love without realizing it’s love, you always been desperate for a lover….”

Scaramouche said the end with a bit of irritation and condescending tone.

“But… I know you don’t do it intentionally… mya i don’t want you to be hurt… I want to protect you from all that… Your just too dumb without me…” 

Suddenly he hugs you.

This is weird… Walls and furniture being wrapped up… Even the floor… Being kidnapped, you weren’t all that dumb, what else could you assume, that he was most definitely going to kill you. He nudged his nose into your neck.

“A-Are you gonna kill me…?”

Scaramouche starts to sensually rub your shoulder with his hands, then your arm, Scara purrs in your ear, seemly lost on the moment being close to you.

“What makes you think that sweetie?”

Y/n look around the room, and scara does too, realizing you noticed the saran wrap all over the room. Scaramouche smiles at you and pats your head.

“Your so observant, you like to watch crime shows a lot? Well your not so dumb afterall… ah but no i’m not, we have another guest…” 

Scaramouche pulls away from you sighing, at the loss of touch from you. Leaving the room and coming back with… Someone on a chair. 

“scara… you didn’t….” 

You say shocked and disbelief, scaramouche brought the fucking guy who confessed to you… what’s with all this…

“Yup just that guy! it really irritated me when you told me he confessed, not only that but he was still waiting for an answer?”

He pulls the guy head up by his hair, his face mixed with blue and purple… His face plumped up like he got bashed with something… Scratches all over his face. Your face contorts at the thought of going though whatever that guy went through.

“Did you ever text him? like i said y/n.”

He saids looking at you sharply, and with authority.

“Um… I never sent it”

you say nervously, and quickly looking away.

Scaramouche chuckles.

“Yeah well i’ve always known, y/n you should start listening to me more often… Anyway i knew because i saw you never texted him on instagram, then i started to wonder if he contacted your number, or other social media i don’t know of… Don’t worry y/n… I got it under control. Imagine what he would’ve done just for an answer, consistently text you, go up to you…. Stalk you……

And unfortunately, If you wont do anything about It I will, mya from now on, you listen to me, and everything I say.”

You were surprised by his tone how… How you almost listened to him…. You quickly gained some confidence to say something back .

“Y-You can’t just command me…!”

Scaramouche gives you a death glare. Daring you to say anything else.

“Y/n, i’m only trying to give him a lesson, but if you’d like to get one afterwards…”

He saids sinisterly and irritated.

You decide to shut up after that.

“Ah that’s what i thought… Anyway …”

Scaramouche then pours water on the poor guy, and he wakes up

*he gasps and flinches, seemly scared the moment he woke up. “please no…“

Poor guy face was so beat up he couldn’t even figure out what he was looking at now…. 

“Cmon dude! it was just a crush not even that serious… Just let me go please i don’t deserve this!!

The man cries and whines, begging for his life.

“Shut up… “ scaramouche grumbles

Scaramouche goes and picks up that heavy bag and drops everything in it all on the floor… It’s weapons… Knifes, chainsaw, machetes, torture devices, all that stuff…

“Now mya.. To prove my love… I want you to pick one, for me to use.”

He looks at you with twisted affection….????

“What-?! You want me to pick how to kill him?? No i’m not doing that!”

the man turns his head over while scaramouche not looking to see what that sound was, as you watch him you see his face go cold, he starts sobbing and even praying.

“y-y/n?? Is this some sick plan?? Please y/n give me mercy…..” the poor guy said.

“Shut the fuck up, or should i break your face until you look different .”

Despite scaramouche not talking to you… You were surprised that it almost shut you up too, he was glaring at the man currently.

“Scaramouche… Please let him go…”

You say timidly. Scaramouche visibly looked like he was gonna swing at him just for uttering your name. 

Scara looks back at you, sighing audibly, he still looks mad but his voice softens as he responds to you…

“Y/n… Im not gonna do that, anyway… I’m sure you can think of some creative way from those crime shows you watch…”

He was getting closer to you, like he was trying to persuade you, using his charm at you despite the situation.

“Cant you see y/n… I’ll do anything for you… Please just give me something… Just point a weapon at least…”

He sat back on the floor next to you, He’s now buried his head in your neck.

“I can’t just…”

You hesitantly said, scared to say the rest of your sentence or you’ll get shutdown again.

Scaramouche grabs you by your waist now looking down at you.

“y/n it’s inevitable…. Let it go… Let it happen”

With much guilt…. You look at the floor full of weapons… And point at the small pocket knife

He looks over, and he sighs looking back at you.

“What would you be without me…”

He smiles and kisses your cheek softly and affectionately, and gets up and off of you and goes over to pick it up, though it seems he missed it… Instead picking up the axe right next to it.

“S-Scara please hold on…”

“I love you y/n… I want you to watch please”

Scaramouche smiles. now walking next to the guy tied to the chair, smiling from ear to ear, just happy that your there.

“Are you ready shitface?, all that work for nothing… she was never gonna choose your weird body built self.” 

Scaramouche presses the axe onto his arm, just giving him a scratch, deep enough to draw blood, giving a teaser of what he’s about to get.

“fuck you!! and fuck you y/n!!!”

the guy yells and screams. Slowly scara fully gets back, and plunges the man in the chest with the axe… by throwing it… 

“ACK-“ 

the guy immediately coughing up blood.

The blood spattered everywhere, blood dripping from his chest…. The axe must i’ve not hit his heart yet… Since he’s still full on screaming, but now grasping onto life…

You were shocked… This is new to you so you were processing everything slowly, but everything was happening fast, you just now registering the fact you can see the insides of his chest, his ribs showing also omfg…

“o-oh my FUCKING GOD SCARAMOUCHE??”

(You start to crawl back the edge of the bed.)

The poor guy continues screaming, and he begins to have a seizure, the poor sight of seeing foam and blood come out his mouth, it’s traumatizing to watch. Scaramouche quickly goes to get another weapon, that small knife you actually chose, and comes over and slices his throat to cut off his vocal cords, but then continuing to cut through, likes he’s trying to cut off his head, ultimately the guy dies… 

YES you were crying a little, you were scared as FUCK. You try your best not to look at the now dead man, seeing he had an axe through his chest, and his head now being held off his neck… Like it would drop his head due to the pressure of it being on its side… Blood being splattered everywhere even on you and especially scaramouche… It’s just something your not used to… You were shaking so much.

“y/n…. This makes me so happy” 

He finally turns away from the man, Scaramouche looks like he relieved…? Much more calmer, you were surprised by his reaction initially just staring at him, emotions everywhere and overthinking.

He comes up to where you sitting, though you back away from him scared of him, pushing him away with your hands*

Scaramouche tilts his head confused.

“Y/n…? No no don’t look away.”

He gets closer and pulls your arms towards him, and tilts your head up to look at him. By this point your back is against the wall, while scaramouche is inching more in front of you.

“Are you also happy mya? Your free now…”

He looks at you now caressing your face looking at you affectionately.

You try to look away from the blood… Splattered on his face. Only for scara to force your chin back to him. Feeling the smudge of blood on his hands on your chin and cheek.

“mya we can focus on just us now… Now there’s nothing holding you back, I can have you… 

He sighs like a big bolder just got off his shoulder and puts his face in your neck, sniffing you like a pervert.

“I- I don’t wanna be in here… Scara… It’s creepy in here…” you say in a very low low tone, this did affect you a little

Scaramouche doesn’t move from your neck.

(“Do you like your new clothes, I picked them myself… I think it suits you…”

Scara taking the time to appreciate the lingerie and nightgown he had put on you.. 

he sighs.)

“All this work just to make you happy Y/n…. It’s fine because it’s worth it… I’ll be back”

He goes to the drawer and grabs a syringe

“this will prick your neck a little…”

he suddenly kisses you softly as he then puts it in your neck… soon you fall asleep to remember the rest….

____ part two soon, im still not done w it but there will be smut

[trulycertain]

I've seen this idea that during In Hushed Whispers, Dorian is showboating and saying whatever comes into his head, and nothing else. No, I really don't think so. There's a lot of principle and empathy under all that.

He's so damn crestfallen - "Once, [Alexius] was a man to whom I compared all others. Sad, isn't it?" Even if you opt for saying that back in the present, Alexius still might be reasoned with, Dorian's response is a quiet, "I suppose that's true" - not as if he believes you, but as if he wishes he could. (Back in Haven, one of the first things he says if you ask him about whether he's seen Alexius is that the man is to be judged soon, and perhaps we can show him mercy? Said like he knows it's a vain hope and he's leaving it in the Inquisitor's hands, but interesting to note. It matches very much with his later-game approvals and dialogue, where he's upset by loss of - non-Venatori or red templar - life and collateral damage in any form.)

He's also not fully confident in his abilities, trying not to promise too much, and honest about that; sure, he makes that half-joke about "I'm here. I'll protect you," but when Fiona expresses excitement about him maybe being able to get himself and the Inquisitor back in time, he points out gravely, "I said maybe."

He's also horrified by what's happened to the world, he's just trying to put it aside. (Look at his response to realising that red lyrium is growing out of people, for instance - or when he finally lets himself think about what's happened to Alexius and Felix, and has to pull himself back together a little; he's clearly not sure how much he can afford to let the Inquisitor see of his vulnerability, and sidesteps it, but it's there. Leliana correctly points out that he's just talking to fill the silence, which suggests he's nervous/disturbed as hell, offhand jokes about the Venatori's taste in draperies and light reading or not. The jokes and the questions to try and get his head around things are clearly how he deals with those nerves.)

There are also some lines that suggest Dorian is very, very wary of the Inquisition but wants very badly to believe in it (which, looking at his dad and Alexius, every time he's put his trust in an idealist/s it's ended badly). When you talk about recruiting the mages, he has a sharply pointed line about how Alexius chucked the mages into indentured servitude, but "the Inquisition will be different. …The Inquisition is different, yes?" And heck, even when he gets to Haven... note how he's found the quietest, most shadowed position where he can be less harassed, but keep an eye on comings and goings; he does the exact same at the Winter Palace. He's taking the Inquisition's measure.

He was trying to impress at first, so he was in a position to help and you wouldn't kill him. He's pretending to have foot-in-mouth with occasional genuine (rather than constant) slips into it... but he's principled, careful and scoping out the Inquisition for a trap as much as they're doing the same to him. And as he says himself: "[My people] care, deeply." I think anyone saying otherwise is getting distracted by the flashy stuff, precisely as he wants you to be.

[hellojusthereforabit-blog]

Past Lives Pt. 1.5 - Bucky Barnes.

Ft. Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, and Natasha Romanoff.

"I can't do this, doll, I'm sorry."

"You with me, Y/N?" Sam bended to be eye-level with me.

"What?" I asked, brows furrowing in what I'm sure is a developing wrinkle.

Sam sighed, shaking his head and moving back to the drawing board, where an intricate capture-seize-and-return-to-current-time-line plan was etched.

There's no excuse. I was slipping. I was being unreliable. I could not be trusted with this mission.

"Can I trust you with this mission, Y/N?" Sam's voice was grave, devoid of its usual playful warmth.

No. "Yes." I replied, hoping my face did not betray just how out of my depth I truly was.

What was I thinking agreeing to a mission like this? Maybe Bucky was right. Maybe I did this just to twist the knife. I knew something was truly wrong with me when the idea of Bucky being sick with anxiety over me seemed attractive.

He hurt you, I reminded myself. As if this made it any more justifiable.

"I have the kid." Bucky's booming voice echoed through the compound walls as he approached the conference room.

Speak of the devil.

"Hey!" quipped Peter Parker, alias: Spiderman, from behind Bucky. "You do not have me, Mr. Winter Solider Sir, I came here willingly."

"Pipsqueak" muttered Sam from beside me.

I barely concealed my own laugh in time for Bucky to hit Peter with the infamous "don't call me that." line.

Peter's eyes zeroed in on me and his smile got impossibly wider.

"Y/N!" He seemed to jump in place, "Oh my God! It's so good to see you!"

I welcomed Peter's embrace, relishing in the confusion of the two men behind me.

"Back at you, kiddo."

"You two know each other?" asked Bucky with what seemed to be true disgust.

"Sure we do," I said, patting Peter on the back, "As far as anyone's concerned, this is my avenger-little-brother." I winked at Peter as we pulled away.

Something sobered in the room at the mention of my family. We were all un-kindly reminded of what was at steak here.

"Alright then, Spider," said Sam, back in Captain America mode. "Tell us how it happened."

--

"Reports of more than a dozen killed, and fifty more injured in the area. No group has yet claimed responsibility, but we urge anyone with any knowledge of this to get in contact with the local auth-"

"They weren't all civilians, y'know ." A silky-smooth voice spoke from behind me, interrupting the news anchor.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

Red hair and amused green eyes stared back at me from behind the barrel of my gun.

"Jesus, Nat!" I holstered the gun back to my side. "Don't you ever knock?"

"Why, so you can ignore me again?" she replied knowingly.

Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, was raiding my shelves for- whatever it was she was looking for. Having found a half-eaten bucket of ice-cream, she plopped down on my couch and shut the TV off.

"You should really stop watching the news, too depressing." she reasoned, licking the spoon clean off ice-cream.

Resigned to the situation, I dropped to the floor.

The silence in the apartment was short-lived.

I poked Nat's leg and looked up at her.

"I'm sorry about - all the ignoring stuff." It was a lame apology, but Nat deserved one, at least.

She stayed silent, clearly waiting for me to go on.

"It's just-" I started, unable to find the words. She hummed in response.

God, I was so grateful to have a friend like Nat, though you would have never caught me saying that.

I hope she knew.

"Ever since everyone was blipped," I tried again, only half-aware of Nat's leg freezing in place beside me. "I keep seeing them. Him." I breathed out.

"Bucky?" she asked, her demeanor quieter, more real.

I nodded and tried to keep going.

"He never even knew - I never even told him." I shuddered at the thought of what I was about to say next. "He died thinking no one loved him, Nat."

I felt a steady hand grip my shoulder.

"He knew he had a friend in you, Y/N," she said, ever the voice of reason.

But I was beyond reason then, gasping for breath.

"No," my voice cracked. Weak, like the rest of me. "Not like this."

I paused, collected my thoughts.

Out with it.

"Everytime something happens, the first person I want to tell is Bucky. His voicemail is probably barely functional from how many messages I left. But he's gone. They're all gone. I don't see a point in waking up every morning, I don't run, I don't train, I don't eat, Nat-"

I felt a thud beside me on the floor and a pair of strong arms hold me tight. Capable fingers pressed against my back until I was a sobbing mess in the lap of the deadliest assassin in the world.

I only grasped the faintest string of some Russian lullaby through the sounds of my own misery.

--

"Agent!" Sam's commanding voice echoes through the room, ricocheting off the walls and piercing my eardrums. "Copy on the plan or do we need to go through this a third time?" He asks, no mirth in that lovely face of his.

"I copy."

-

Hey guys, I promise the part with 40s Bucky is coming soon. It just feels right to add a little bit of depth to the story. Please let me know your thoughts! Your support from the previous part was incredible. Thank you and see you soon!